


That Long Black Train

by elle_and_em



Series: Licorice and Mint: Tales from New Darpana Bay - Volume 1 [2]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Coming of Age, Dungeon Crawl, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Dungeons & Dragons References, Goblin Town, LGBTQ Themes, Original Character(s), Other, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:55:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29481810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle_and_em/pseuds/elle_and_em
Summary: Deep in the sewers, a guiding voice reached out to Vola.  A voice who calls the long dark tunnels home.  There's thousands of stories in NDB.  Come listen to one about how two brave souls found happiness where so many have only found despair.This work contains lyrics from Paul Pena. All rights belong to the respective recording artist.“My wife died, went on that long black trainThree years since then have come and gone againHad to find some way to soothe my soulThat's when I found that Kargyraa Moan.”Paul Pena - “Kargyraa Moan”
Series: Licorice and Mint: Tales from New Darpana Bay - Volume 1 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2092254





	1. Spider Eggs and Sleepless Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marty Straatveger is a shy goblin girl, living in the Run-offs of the Darpana River with her family and her grandfather Baya. The pair live their lives as the barely-tolerated members of their chaotic family. Neither has a voice to loud enough for this bright and cruel world, however in the sewers where silence is golden, they find strength beyond words.

New Darpana Bay - Summer 2014  
  
========================================================================

Baya was awake again. 

Marty’s eyes fluttered open, then just as quickly she shut them. She could feel his gaze on her, but she let her breathing slow in what she hoped was a steady, even pattern. 

“Hmph.” Shuffling footsteps. The creak of a door opening, closing. Then silence.

She cracked one yellow eye open and was relieved to see herself alone once more. “Alone” was a relative term, since the single room they all shared was never truly empty. Her six brothers and sisters, her parents, Baya, and her all squeezed and jostled for room in the big bed, had for as long as she could remember. Her spot was a two-by-two square near the upper left corner next to Rmaa. She untangled herself from her sister now, whose arm had flopped over onto Marty during the night. No one else had stirred from Baya’s noise except her. They were all getting a good nights’ sleep. Big day tomorrow. The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.

With silent feet, she ducked under the bed and grabbed her burlap rucksack, slinging it over her shoulder. Quickly she checked the bag to make sure Tuvo, the Borrower, hadn’t taken anything out. But everything was still there - a bottle of water, her sketchbook, pen, and a battered Walkman with headphones. She mentally gave a quiet prayer of thanks and made sure to touch two fingers to his tiny shrine at the head of the bed before she crept to the door. Wincing at the creak, she paused just long enough to make sure no one else stirred before she slunk through, closing it behind her.

The kitchen was dark, the moon struggling to shine its weak light into the room. Baya was nowhere to be seen, but the door was slightly ajar. Moving to the door, Marty peered outside, frowning slightly. Where had he gone? 

There. A figure clad in a black poncho and weighters, picking its way amongst the garbage heap in the alley below. It was moving fast. If she hurried, she might be able to catch Baya - but not too fast, or he’d know he was being followed. Quickly Marty grabbed her own poncho and mask from the hook and closed the door behind her. She clambered to the ladder propped against the porch. Below her ran the rushing black ribbon of the Darpana River, a straight drop that had to be twenty feet or more. One of the neighbors had had their youngest fall to his death in the river a few weeks earlier, so Marty watched her step now as she descended. The ground crackled under her feet as she landed, her soft boots crunching against plastic and glass. A rat squeaked hopefully at her from atop a dumpster. 

The alley wasn’t safe at night, and Marty drifted from shadow to shadow as quickly as she dared. Ahead of her, Baya moved with the grace of a ghost, seemingly unafraid of the dangers that might lay in wait. She blinked in awe at his fearlessness. Her grandfather had always seemed larger than life, almost suicidal in his boldness, but the way Maartje, her mother, told the story, he’d been like that since the war ended. He never seemed to worry about Kobolds wandering up from the sewers, or the press-gangs, or the Borrower, or the little _coda_ spirits that inhabited the bodies of rats and made them crazy and bite. As he slipped on his gas mask and scrambled through the hole in the sewer grate, she made herself count to ten before following. The grate was half-submerged in a muddy pool of standing water, the surface slick and oily in the moonlight. Briefly, she spared a glance at her reflection. Yellow eyes, bulbous and red-ringed with tiredness, stared back at her. It was late, and it didn’t look like sleep would be coming anytime soon for her. 

The tunnel echoed with the _drip-drip_ of water, heavy in her ears. Darkness engulfed her as she stepped inside, thick with the smell of moss and rot. It hung like a second skin on her. Lower down, the fumes were toxic and she’d need to put her mask on, but the black onyx goggles made it harder to see. For now, she let it hang limply around her neck. A splash of water up ahead alerted her to Baya, who was busy wading upstream in a river of sewage the consistency of mucous. In his hand was a hooked stick, which he used to skewer water spiders as they snagged against his boots. The size of dinner plates, the gray sinewy forms squeaked and died as he jabbed them with razor-sharp accuracy. Their twitching forms floated slowly past Marty, who watched with fascination as more grey legs pulled them under the water. She didn’t have a hooked stick, so she kept to the brick ledge against the wall. 

Quietly she watched her grandfather slog through the water. He’d been this way many times, they all had. The stretch of tunnel would give way to the garbage-littered “beach” that they would scavenge as a family sometimes, when pickings out on the riverbank were slim. But instead of taking the familiar route, Baya turned abruptly to the right. The crevice was so cleverly hidden that she’d missed it the first time, but he folded himself into the crack between bricks effortlessly. Marty scrambled after him, leaping into the viscous water. It clung to her poncho in sticky webs of fluid, and she struggled to power-walk her way through the current. Grey feelers tried to cling to the black rubber and she brushed them off hurriedly. The water spiders’ fangs were sharp enough to pierce the thickness of her suit, given enough time. But they released her with squeaks of protest as she squeezed into the crevice. 

In the dark she crawled after Baya, one hand in front of her, the other on the wall. The Borrower had taken her light the week before, a wax candle as thick as her forearm. She’d even found a lighter to go with it. But the lighter was gone, and what good was a candle without a way to light it? She would have to find something else. Patiently, she waited for her eyes to adjust and continued to crawl forward. The crack was narrow, and more than once she bit back a shout as her forehead banged against a sloping ceiling. The water sucked at her boots. 

Her fingertips brushed against open air and she faltered, suddenly unsure. The faint splashing ahead of her had stopped. She strained her ears for any clue of her surroundings. A faint rumbling was the only noise that broke the silence, so deep that it was nearly a vibration rather than a sound. It traveled down her spine in a shiver. The echo made it impossible to tell where the sound was coming from. 

A hand grasped hers in the dark, and Marty only had time to take a breath before another clapped over her mouth. Pressure forced her to her knees in the water, the current rushing past her at chest level. Hot breath on her neck. Baya’s body was hunched next to her, the wordless growl barely more than a whisper from his throat. But the rumbling had stopped. In the silence, they both waited. Marty’s heartbeat thundered in her ears. 

Only when the rumbling resumed did her grandfather relax. Cautiously, he removed the hand from her mouth. Fishing around in his pocket, he produced something that he quickly plunged under the water. A quiet _crack_ , and the bioluminescent green of a glow stick lit the water around them in a milky sheen. Dripping, he held it over his head to cast light on the two of them. The cavern was large, larger than the space cast by the weak green light. To their left lay a raised brick landing, the bricks stained black with lichens and crusted slime. A gently sighing form sat on the dais. Marty squinted, straining her eyes to make sense of the thing that sat just beyond the reach of their light. Then it shifted, and her eyes grew wide in terror. Before she could scream, the hand had clapped back over her mouth. 

Slowly, he began to drag her to the other side of the riverbank, backing away one step at a time. At an agonizing pace, they inched away from the massive creature. The alligator regarded them lazily, eyes gleaming red in the green light. A thickly muscled body glittered with pure white scales, the stomach bulging and distended from a recent meal. The rumbling transformed into a purr as the two goblins tiptoed away, and Marty got the distinct impression of amusement from the enormous predator. It abruptly reminded her of the twins, Yan and Guli, and the gleeful grins they’d wear when they caught hold of a rat or a bird. The horror at the comparison sent a chill over her body. Baya’s breathing was steady but his body was locked in anxiety. Only when they reached the opposite bank did he move fast. Grabbing her hand, he dragged her to a rickety spiral staircase, rusted brown with millennia of neglect. 

Marty obeyed as fast as her limbs would let her. The creature was invisible from this side of the river except for two pinpoints of bright red in the darkness. By the time she reached the top of the staircase, she couldn’t see those either. Baya shoved her forward into the drainpipe, and shut the hatch behind him with a _clang._

As he ripped his mask off, the yellow pop eyes of Baya Straatveger glared down at her. The slitted pupils were fully dilated in the dim light, eyebrows furrowed in indignation. His hands shook with anger, but he opened his mouth and closed it again, saying nothing. Meekly, Marty slid her eyes down to her feet. In the silence, she waited. He would wait for her to say something, knowing she couldn’t. And she would wait for him to say something, knowing that today was a hollow day for him and that the demons that kept him up at night would also hold their hands in front of his mouth, catching the words as they tried to come out. So much to say, so much unspoken.

At length, he _hmpfed_ his disapproval and crossed his arms. Only then did Marty glance up from her feet. Baya held his hand out, and Marty passed her rucksack over to him. Undoing the string, he peered inside. He _hmpfed_ again, but this time with less disapproval, handing it back to her. There was a strange look on his face, but it was impossible to read in the dim light. He sighed and continued down the pipe. After a respectful pause, Marty followed. 

The pipe continued in a straight line for maybe a hundred yards before curving to the right and ending in another hatch. Baya strained at the wheel for a moment before the hatch popped open with a _hiss_ of stale air. The older goblin reproachfully looked back at her over his shoulder before sitting on the lip of the opening, dangling his legs in empty space. _Do what I do._ Slowly he laid one foot down on some unseen surface, then another. Holding one finger up to his lips, he then made a slashing motion with it across his throat. 

The surface below her feet squished under her weighters as she settled down on it. Just as Baya had done, she let her other foot ease down. Experimentally, she jumped in place, watching with fascination as the ground rolled beneath her. Not quite solid, not quite liquid. The familiar eye-watering reek of rotten eggs was stronger here than up on the surface, but it was nothing she wasn’t used to. Small black round objects, thousands of them, floated on the surface around her feet. It was impossible to see what they were in the dim light, but Baya seemed to pay them no mind, skittering across the surface in great ripples of motion. The objects seemed to shift and move under his feet without being squished, and Marty made sure to follow his footpath exactly as she bounced after him. A faint chittering echoed in the chamber, along with the gentle sound of fluid sucking at their boots.

All too soon, Marty’s boots scraped against solid land. Baya was waiting for her, glow stick held high in the air. He beckoned at the black objects and motioned for her to scoop them out of the muck. Wordlessly, she obeyed. They were circular, warm to the touch and left a glutinous residue on her hands as she collected them. From his own rucksack, Baya produced a plastic grocery bag. The palm-sized objects filled the bag quickly. Every so often, he would pull one out of the bag, examine it, and either return it to the bag or cast it back into the bog. She wasn’t sure what he was looking for, and given that he was likely still mad, Marty didn’t dare risk opening her mouth to try and ask. Instead she meekly did as she was told, only stopping when the bag was full to bursting. Baya cinched it tight and stuffed it back in his rucksack with a _squish_. Without looking at her, he resumed running, this time skating quickly along a narrow strip of land no more than ten inches wide. With both hands jutted out for balance, Marty jogged after him, determined not to be left behind again.

After what felt like forever, the ground became solid under her feet once more. Strings of clear mucous hung onto her rubber boots, pooling at her feet. Her grandfather crouched at the shores of the giant black lake they’d just crossed, motioning for her to come down. Settling on his haunches, he held the glow stick close to the floating black balls. The green seemed to melt away the black into translucence, and the wriggling many-legged forms inside each ball made her mouth start to water. Spider eggs. They were a treat up on the surface, and incredibly expensive. They were only allowed to have a soft-boiled spider egg on birthdays and at the end of the year at _Samhain_ . To see them in such abundance here, and so _big…_

As if to echo her thought, Baya jerked a gnarled thumb up to the ceiling, holding the glow stick high in the air. Marty strained her eyes against the darkness. Gentle pinpoints of green floated unmoving in the distance, but there was no sound save for a dry, faraway rattle that Marty couldn’t place.

The green pinpoints winked out of view, then back again. The dry rattle whispered through the cavern a second time, a little louder. A slick squishing noise echoed, like toothpaste being squeezed through a bottle. Then the shadows moved, and Marty felt a hot stream of urine course down her leg. Baya grabbed her arm to keep her from swaying. Frozen to the floor, it was all she could do not to faint as the green pinpoints of light swayed into view. The knobby legs were long, too long for the shiny bulk of the monster that descended on a line of webbing thin as a wire. Black beady eyes regarded her with mild curiosity, the fangs on its mouth twitching inquisitively. Her grandfather jerked her back from the edge of the lake as the form landed delicately on eight feet. It was the size of a truck, with coarse black hairs standing at attention on its legs. Primly, the hulking creature stepped onto the glutinous surface, which miraculously held its weight, and skated off into the darkness. Ripples lapped gently at the shore, the only sign something had been there.

A tug on Marty’s arm brought her back to the present. Open-mouthed, she stumbled after Baya. He placed her hands on rusted rungs and motioned for her to start climbing. Her head spun with questions. Desperately she tried forcing them out through her stubborn tongue, trying to get it to obey.

“W-w-w-w-why--”

“ _Hrmph.”_ Keep climbing. Marty’s arms burned, but Baya showed no signs of stopping and the circle of light was moving with him. She didn’t dare slow down or stop. Stubbornly, she persisted.

“W-w-why d-didn’t it eeeeeeeeaaaaatt--”

“Ratsonly.” The words were practically spat at her. The demons that caught Baya’s words were a lot like hers, but while words seemed to get stuck in her teeth, his seemed to fly out of his mouth like shots from a cannon, as if they had to escape before the hatch slammed shut again. She’d long since learned not to take it personally. At least he was speaking to her again. Her brain churned rapidly through the hundreds of questions she had. Words were so hard to get out - had to make them count.

“Lossssssst-t-t-t--”

“Nocominwithmeagain.” Her heart sank. She tried opening her mouth for another question, but the sprites that played tricks on her tongue had caught on by now and the words seemed sharp, full of edges that she couldn’t work her mouth around long enough to speak. The two of them climbed in silence, her cheeks burning with shame and with the exertion. The sack of spider eggs, which had seemed like such a treat minutes ago, now sagged against her thin body, weighing her down more with every second that passed.

Finally a soft light appeared above them, gray and mottled with the light of the pre-dawn. Baya stopped, fussing with the grate that covered the tunnel opening. Marty chanced a glance behind her, at the warm darkness of the world she’d just climbed her way out of. Was it all a dream? The rucksack full of eggs, now ripe with the heat from her body, felt real enough. Her heart pounded in her chest, whether from exhaustion or adrenaline she couldn’t quite tell. Maybe a little bit of both.

The grate groaned open and Baya hoisted himself out of the tunnel. Marty scrambled after him, and the sewer covering slammed shut with a bang that echoed in the empty street. Glancing around, she couldn’t help but feel a small stab of disappointment at the trash-strewn alley and shanty houses stacked haphazardly against each other like sardines in a can. There was a world of monsters underneath her feet! Spider eggs and who knew what other riches grew in droves down there, for anyone who was brave enough like Baya to go after it. The sourness of the world below still sat on her tongue, the webs of stickiness clinging to her poncho and boots. She’d have to wash them off before coming inside, or Ma would know she’d been out. 

The rapid staccato of her heart would make it impossible to say it, but she wished desperately she had the words to beg him to take her down there again. How was she supposed to go back to normal when there were so many things to see down there? 

Baya was moving down the alley again. The street was chilly and cold in the dim light. Even the rats were finally asleep. She followed her grandfather’s path through the garbage piles and down the hill to their house, sticking close to his shadow. He might not be afraid of the _coda_ , but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t try something with her, if she wandered off. 

The familiar stilts of her home rose up out of the gloom towards her. Following his lead, she took the length of garden hose hanging from a twisted clothes hanger and turned on the spigot. Muddy water splashed over her poncho and boots as she rinsed off the filth of the sewers. Dripping wet, she then clambered as quietly as she could up the stairs, peeling the black rubber off as she went. The sopping wet shoes went on the drying mat outside, and the poncho and gas mask went back on the hook. The wind would dry them both soon enough. Carefully, the two of them eased the rickety door back open and stepped into the kitchen. Corrugated metal flooring, covered with moth-eaten Jangalian and homemade braided rugs, squeaked with each step. With incredible stealth, Baya hung the bag of spider eggs on the hook above the sink, motioning for her to do the same. Fascinated, she obeyed and watched as the bag slowly oozed a slow string of black goo.

“Drainfortomorrowbreakfast.” The idea of eggs needing to drain was a foreign one to her, but she’d only ever seen them one at a time, so perhaps this was the way you harvested them. She shrugged in agreement. 

A nudge caused her to meet his eyes. They were surprisingly kind as they stared down at her. “Didgoodtodaygirl.”

“Th-th-th-th-thanks Baya.”

No more words needed to be said. Quietly they crept back into the bedroom, where her family lay piled and sleeping in the bed. Marty took a quick look at the dress hanging on the hook by the door - the worn pink cotton with ruffles - and shuddered before maneuvering her way back into her spot on the bed. Rmaa stirred sleepily, sniffing her absently in the darkness before recoiling at her smell and turning away. Baya gave her a knowing look before turning on his side away from her. Soon the rumbling snore let her know that she was the only one still awake in the house.

Restlessly she tried to sleep, but no matter what she did, it eluded her. The thrill of adrenaline still sang in her veins and the hunger in her belly burned for those spider eggs. The dread of the pink dress still hanging in the corner also danced in her thoughts, forcing away any hope of rest for the remainder of the night. Desperately she reached for her rucksack, fishing her Walkman and headphones from the bag. Careful not to wake Rmaa, she gently positioned them on her pointed ears and clicked the button. The low growl of Paul Pena filled her ears. 

_Woke up this morning_

_Hopelessness fixin’ to drive me insane_

_How could I know then_

_That the end of this day would bring relief_

_From some of this toil and pain_

When the song finished playing, she clicked Rewind and waited, counting out the seconds. Then she hit Play and listened to the soft vocals as they filled her ears again. Closing her eyes, she let the familiar chorus drown out the words that threatened to fill her mind. 

When she finally did drift off to sleep, she dreamed of long dark tunnels and twisting corridors echoing with dry, faraway rattles.

========================================================================

“SPIDER EGGS!”

Marty jerked awake at the high-pitched squeal. The bed was empty; the kitchen was a tornado of noise, and the sun was high in the sky. Today was the day. The pink dress hung on the hook still; she couldn’t avoid it any longer. Casting a bleary yellow eye at the corner of the bed where Baya usually slept, she couldn’t help but wonder how he was already awake when she felt like hammered death. Groaning, she shuffled her feet to the cold dirt floor.

“Her Highness finally decides to get out of bed!” Ma’s voice was sharp with disapproval. It was always sharp with disapproval, but Marty had gotten used to it. Her mother had a tight white kerchief wrapped around her balding head. Her body, soft and sagging, was swathed in a dirty apron, and mismatched striped socks were on her feet. Ma Straatveger was still the only fat goblin Marty had ever seen - but of course she’d never tell her mother that. Her green skin was the color of an old gherkin, and mottled with age spots. A battered pair of pince-nez glasses sat on the bridge of her nose, over which she stared at her yawning oldest daughter. Behind her a sizzling pan threw splatters of grease onto the floor. The unique smell of spider egg omelettes filled the air -that musk of frying yolk and the tang of arachnid meat browning in grease that Marty loved. In spite of Ma’s tone and her own exhaustion, her mouth began to water.

Rmaa cast a jealous amber eye at Marty and scooted over for her older sister. Rmaa looked like how Ma must have looked fifteen years ago, back when Ma was still pretty. Thick black hair lay in a braid that cascaded neatly down Rmaa’s back, with a red ribbon tied on the bottom. Somewhere, her younger sister had scrounged a tube of red lipstick and painted it on herself using the help of a hand mirror and a water-stained ladies magazine. If Marty had had the words, she would have told Rmaa, _you look beautiful, and you should be wearing that dress today, not me_. But of course she didn’t, and even if she did, Rmaa wouldn’t have the patience to listen anyway. Her sister reached past her as the first eggs were set down on the table and grabbed one from the bowl, biting into the first with razor-sharp eye teeth.

“S’good, thanks Baya,” Rmaa mumbled around a mouthful of egg, the squeak of her voice muffled by her breakfast. At the foot of the table sat Baya, drinking a warm beer silently from a battered can. He nodded gruffly and made brief eye contact with Marty before taking another gulp from the can.

“Spider eggs, spider eggs, spidey eggs, spider eggsess, spideggs, sp--”

“Shut up you two,” Ma snapped at the twins. Yan and Guli ignored her, trying to outsing each other. Jostling for room, one of them jabbed Marty sharply in the ribs. Without apologizing, the other laughed as she winced. The two boys looked so alike that Marty often couldn’t tell which one was which. They each had the snub nose and close-set eyes that all Straatvegers were known for. They’d filed their teeth down into sharp points a couple months ago and were constantly walking around with files in their back pockets - presumably to impress girls. Marty had no idea if it worked or not, although her money would have been on the latter. Right now, Guli - at least she thought it was Guli - had his left hand wrapped in a sling, which Yan took the opportunity to nudge whenever he could get away with it. Marty ducked as an egg flew past her head.

“Guli, _fuck off_ \--”

“LOOK, there it is! Get it!” Guli scrambled to his feet, diving to the window frame, where an orange cat had just landed on petite white paws. Yan wasn’t far behind.

“Mine! It’s mine!”

“I saw it first!”

“Like hell--

“Boys - boys…!” Ma yelled over the din. The cat let out a screeching yowl as the two boys tackled it, wrapping it in their arms. Clawing wildly, the cat bucked against their grips. Yan howled in pain and dropped the cat, which left another parting gash across Yan’s nose before leaping up on the windowsill and hissing. Guli tried to unsuccessfully make another dive for the cat. It dodged this second attempt easily, darting away out of sight. Ma’s annoyed banging on the stove did nothing to calm the chaos. Blood flowed freely from the cut on Yan’s face. His brother nonchalantly swiped a finger through the crimson and put it to his lips.

“Mmm. Tastes like _maqua_.”

“Why you---” a smack from the cane elicited a second yelp, this time from Guli, and Yan snickered. 

“Boys,” a drawl came from the other end of the table, “that’s enough.” Uncle Arban was the only one at the table who had a beard, a patch of straggly gray hairs wisping under his chin. Unlike the rest of them, he was from Ma’s old clan, Bat-Erdaa, so his bulging eyes were a deep ruby instead of amber. Tiny pupils the size of pins flitted back and forth, constantly suspicious and evaluating. He wore a business suit today, its too-big sleeves and too-short jacket almost comical on him. He was big for a goblin, and smart. Ma always said the brains in each of her babies came from the Bat-Erdaa side, and the looks from the Straatveger side. It was easy for Marty to keep her mouth shut and her thoughts on that one to herself. “There’ll be plenty of cat at the stalls in town. We'll bring some back for you.”

“We can’t never get cat, we don't got any coin,” Guli whined as he slumped back to the table.

“That sounds like a _you_ problem,” Rmaa said primly. She screeched as Yan reached over and yanked her braid.

“Boys!” Ma and Uncle Arban yelled at the same time. 

“Borrower’s gonna take your coin, Borrower’s gonna take your coin--” the twins screamed as Rmaa threw an egg at them. Baya and Marty met eyes over the table and Marty winced. Baya nodded. So he wasn’t the only one feeling overwhelmed. Somehow that made Marty feel better. 

A snap of cloth at the back of her head made Marty yelp before she could take it back. Wincing, she rubbed the skin as Ma glowered above her. “Get dressed, you, before Pa and the boys get back. Two minutes!” Marty ducked the next snap of the towel and scooped a warm egg out of the bowl before scurrying back to the bedroom. The curtain fell closed and Marty took a big bite out of the egg, chewing frantically. The crunch of spindly legs and sponginess of warm yolk melted together in her mouth and she gave a small moan of appreciation in between bites. It had been worth it. 

The pink dress was too small in the sleeves and too big in the waist, made for human children rather than goblins. Marty adjusted the ruffled belt around her bony hips, doubling the sash to make it cinch tight. The lacy sleeves, patched many times over by Ma, sagged over her forearms. She grimaced at herself. “Woke up this m-mornin’, hopelessness fixin’ to drive m-me insane,” she sang quietly, trying unsuccessfully to wipe the memory of last night from her mind. Flashes of her adventure with Baya played before her eyes, and with each one, another question. What was that albino alligator with the red eyes? 

“MARTY!” Ma barked. 

“C-c-c-c-c-coming!” Marty squeaked, dashing out the door.

“Don’t forget to sign yer name, actually _sign_ it, they don’t take X’s anymore like they used to.” Ma was speaking fast, like she did when she was nervous. “Don’t look at anyone, you speak when you’re spoken to - well you won’t have any problem with that - and you stick close to your brothers and your Pa. Uncle Arban will do the talkin’ and for _shit’s sake_ don’t wander off.”

“Y-y-y-es Ma,” Marty stammered. Her eyes pleaded helplessly at Baya, who gave her a sympathetic glance back. “I l-l-love--”

“Never mind that,” she snapped, shoving her out the door. “Er--love you too. Now get going or your Pa will get snappish.” The wind had picked up on the river, blowing rich black smoke from the trash fires over the murky water. Below her in the skiff were her Pa, her three older brothers, and Uncle Arban, glancing up at her impatiently. At another gesture from Ma, Marty placed both feet on the ladder and scaled down it. It was easier in bare feet than with boots on, but she missed the feeling of the heavy black rubber wrapping around her like a blanket. 

No sooner had she landed in the skiff than her Pa, a beanpole Straatveger with greedy orange eyes and a shock of pure white hair, grunted and motored away from the dock. Marty’s legs flew out from under her and she landed with a _thump_ on the seat of the skiff. Bores, her oldest brother, glanced at her in vague disinterest and went back to coiling the tangle of ropes. Built like a brick and with about as much brains, Marty’s experience with her brother seven years her senior had been limited. He’d never had much use for kids, or girls, and she was both. 

Her other two brothers were built like Pa, rail-thin and hair white as the ash that drifted on the wind from the trash fires on warm days. Rutje had a new scar on his upper lip, making it swell like a balloon. He told Ma it was because he was clumsy, but if Marty had a nickel for every time the second-oldest Straatveger had come stumbling home smelling like sugarscotch, she’d be a millionaire by now. He smelled like it now, and the smile he offered her was equal parts generous and menacing. He’d never really hurt her though….she was pretty sure.

“Got any breakfast for us?” Finez was the youngest of the three, four years ahead of her. He’d gone to the riverbank to help Pa pick as soon as he was old enough to work, and by the time Marty had come along, he’d spent so much time out of the house, he seemed to not know what to do with himself when he was home. He sniffed around her, licking his lips hungrily. “Mmm, spider eggs?”

“Here,” Uncle Arban said, handing Finez the tin that Ma had pushed into his hand. “Eat up boys.” Bores and Rutje’s eyes widened and their mouths stretched open in smiles filled with dull yellow teeth. Tearing open the tin, they each fished out two eggs. Bores popped the first in his mouth whole, moaning as he bit down with a crunch that sounded like gravel grinding. 

“Mmmm, Baya knows how to hunt,” her oldest brother growled, his voice a deep rumble in his chest. 

“Wonder where he got all these from? They’re fuckin’ huge,” Rutje agreed, bits of yolk dribbling down his chin. “That old man knows his shit.” 

“He can wander wherever the hell he wants as long as he brings back more of these,” Finez chimed in, elbowing Marty out of the way as he scooped out an egg of his own. Marty shuffled away from her brothers as they devoured the contents of the lunch tin. The emotions in her chest flitted between pride and indignation. _She_ helped Baya get those eggs. What would they have said if they could’ve seen her last night? Bores couldn’t even have fit in the cracks she and Baya managed to squeeze through…

“Marty,” Pa snapped from the tiller. “Hand me one of those, girl.” Marty scrambled to obey, placing an egg in his gnarled hand. He bit into it without saying thank you, never taking his eyes off the river. The little skiff puttered along the shore, running parallel to the dirt track that eventually gave way to concrete, and then to a smooth sidewalk. Marty’s brothers got quiet, eating their breakfast in silence. 

Their path cut a zigzag upstream through the Darpana River, avoiding trash floes and partially-submerged cars. On either side, shantytowns leaned over the river’s edge, some with laundry hanging limply in the heat. As they passed, many of them waved to Pa, who waved back with a grunt. Marty found herself bored after the first ten minutes. The hot sun beat down on her skin. A salty drop of sweat skated down her back. The day was still young, but already the oppressive heat cast a blanket over the river. She was mostly used to the smell of her home, but on hot days the trash piles baked in the sun. Rutje, who had one hand on the tiller, covered his face and nose with his other hand. 

After a long half-mile of silence, the skiff steered towards the shore, pulling up next to a dock. Uncle Arban helped Marty off the boat. Pa followed. “Stay with the boat,” he muttered to Bores. “Anybody tries to ticket you, cast off and circle around. Anybody tries to take it, make sure they don’t.” Bores grinned menacingly. Marty suppressed a shudder as Uncle Arban took her by the hand and led her up the walking path. There was a lone bus stop at the top of the hill that read CONCORDIA HEIGHTS TRANSIT ROUTE. No one else was at the stop. 

Uncle Arban released her hand and moved a short ways off, talking to Pa in low, tense tones. Marty watched as Pa tugged on his beard, frustrated, before producing a handful of coins to Uncle Arban. Her Bat-Erdaa uncle, shorter and stockier than her father, simply looked at him and lifted an eyebrow. After more tense whispering, Pa reached into his pocket again and produced another handful of change, which Uncle Arban took with a satisfied smirk. Marty briefly entertained the thought of sidling closer to hear what Pa was in the middle of retorting, when the bus crested over the hill. Both goblin men fell silent. Uncle Arban raised his hand for the bus to stop. It came to a creaking halt, and the door slid open.

A human man sat in the seat. He towered above her, and as the three of them stepped onto the bus, he sneered from behind his mustache. “Two-fifty apiece,” he said, his voice gravel. “Where ya headed?”

“City Hall,” Uncle Arban said, doing his best to be congenial. Without waiting for the bus driver to say more, he dumped the handful of coins into the funnel. 

The bus driver handed him a transfer slip after a sideways glance. “We fill from the back.” The bus was empty, there were plenty of seats everywhere, but her uncle guided her and Pa past those rows and to the very back of the bus. The fan didn’t reach back here, and the air felt like it hadn’t moved in a very long time. Marty sat between Pa and Uncle Arban, who didn’t look at each other or at her. The only view was a yellowed poster of a smiling elven couple standing in the doorway of an enormous house. STARTER HOMES FOR YOUNG PROFESSIONALS - GET PRE-QUALIFIED TODAY WITH CONCORDIA GOLDEN MORTGAGE & LOAN! Marty stared at the elven couple, at the woman’s long and perfectly straight blonde hair and the man’s manicured hands, at their glowing white skin. A strange feeling bubbled in her chest, one she couldn’t even begin to name. Her face began to grow hot in a way that had nothing to do with the oppressive heat. Her eyes slid down to her bare feet, to the pink ruffled dress. The sleeve was torn, and the other one had greasy yolk from this morning’s breakfast smeared into it.

As they rode, more and more people boarded the bus. The front rows quickly filled up, the bus driver greeting the morning commuters cheerfully. A few ventured to the back of the bus, only to quickly clap their hands over their noses and turn back around. A Tabaxi woman with a crying baby elbowed her way to the back of the bus, settling next to the goblin trio. She too covered her nose at first, but handling her babfy’s squirming soon proved to be a two-handed job. Marty tried smiling at the baby, but the Tabaxi cub’s eyes widened in fear, and the mother clutched her infant close to her chest. Marty sighed, the smile fading from her face, and resigned herself to staring out the window.

Slowly the bumpy roads and trash-littered streets gave way to clean, straight roads and bright shops. As the bus merged onto the highway, Marty’s eyes were saucers. She’d seen this view once before, but not since she was barely old enough to walk. The sun crested above the horizon, and the New Darpana Bay skyline rose out of the fog like towering giants of industry. Skyscrapers reached towards the clouds while the water thundered below the bus as it raced across the bridge. This was the Darpana River that was on postcards and brochures, a beautiful blue from this high above. 

Cars matched speed on either side of the bus. An Orc man in a business suit picked a tusk in the mirror of his car, while a Genasi woman spoke animatedly into a cell phone from the back seat of a taxi. She longed to ask Uncle Arban questions about the city, but the older goblin was rigid in his seat, his face a mask of forced pleasantness as he stared straight ahead. Pa sat slouched in his seat, picking a fingernail and pointedly not looking at Uncle Arban. He seemed to have forgotten entirely that Marty was here too. She sighed again.

All too soon, they were in the heart of the city. So many people! A traffic light turned green, and a crowd of people all began to cross the street at the same time. Neon lights advertising every service imaginable flashed by her vision. Horns honking made her jump in her seat. They passed by a fire hydrant spraying water into the air, and a police officer bodying a human man into a squad car. The scene was gone in a second, leaving Marty craning her neck to see. 

The bus jolted to a stop, and the crowd began to empty out. Uncle Arban nudged her arm. “We’re here.” Pa seemed to snap back to reality and stood up. Even as tall as he was, he was only waist-high to most of the commuters pouring off the bus. He gripped Marty’s arm tightly as the crowd swept them off, only turning around to face her once the door had closed behind them. “Which way, Arban?”

“Over here.” Her uncle brushed past Pa and gestured towards a magnificent skyscraper. Marty leaned back as far as she could, but the top disappeared into the clouds. Far above her, the birds flying were nothing but specks. The words NEW DARPANA BAY CITY HALL stood in wrought iron above a massive set of revolving doors. People poured in and out of the building in floods. Through the clear glass, she could see people lining up in front of a ritzy shop. A jerk from Pa tugged her forward, and before she knew it, she was stuck in a wedge of people, shuffling forward until the glass rotated to let her in. Immediately she was hit with an unfamiliar smell, rich and loamy and sharp all at once.

“Pa? W-w-what’s that sm-sm---”

“Coffee.” Pa moved over to spit on the floor, but thought better of it as he caught sight of the marble tile. 

“Oh,” Marty sighed, breathing deeply. “Ca-can we--”

“If you can get them to take yer coin, by all means,” he retorted. “C’mon girl. Follow yer uncle.” Uncle Arban was already striding far ahead, beelining for an office marked CITIZEN SERVICES. Marty gave one last confused glance at the coffee shop before being tugged along by Pa. If they wouldn’t take her coin? What was that supposed to mean? Marty had been given two dollars for lunch, and the two metal bits clinked in her pocket, begging to be spent. But they wheeled a corner, and the shop moved out of sight. Marty swallowed her disappointment. Maybe later she could go back and purchase some of that mysterious drink.

The Citizen Services office was marked by rows of cubicles in the back, and rows of chairs in front. A roll of tape stuck out of a dispenser near the door, and Uncle Arban tore off the protruding piece. “We’re early, hopefully this’ll go fast,” he said with forced cheerfulness. Pa grunted some unintelligible reply and moved to take a seat on a hard plastic chair. The only feature was a TV in the corner and a table with brochures in the far corner. The room was half-full of people in various states of wakefulness. None of them were goblins. 

Pa and Uncle Arban settled in their seats immediately, but Marty wandered over to the brochures table. “Sit down, Marty--” her Pa started to say.

“Oh let the girl read, Frits. Gods knows there’s nothing else to do in here.”

“I’m her pa, not you,” Pa responded, but the reply was half-hearted, and Marty safely ignored it. Pa couldn’t read, and neither could any of the older Straatvegers. Marty and Rmaa had learned to read and write from Bana, her grandmother, when she was still alive, but after she died the lessons stopped. Uncle Arban was too busy to teach a bunch of goblin kids, and Yan and Guli wouldn’t sit still long enough to learn their letters anyway. When they were younger, Marty and Rmaa would exchange secret messages, but that was before Rmaa got pretty. Now all she did was spend her time looking at the mirror.

Still though, there were days when reading felt like a secret power. Marty’s eyes swept over the brochures, the words jumping off the pages. PATENT & COPYRIGHT SUPPORT SERVICES: STAY IN THE “GNOME” featured a cartoon gnome with a lightbulb above his head. A beautiful Tiefling woman receiving a college diploma sat above the words DARPANA COMMUNITY COLLEGE - YOUR FUTURE STARTS TODAY. A Loxodon in a meditative pose sat with her eyes closed on a lotus rug, her trunk curled gently at her feet. LAULIANI’S SCHOOL OF MEDITATION was on the inside cover, accompanied with a brief introduction to the Five Petals of the Loxodoni Zodiac. Fascinated, Marty began to read.

“Number 33,” a bored nasal voice called out. 

“Marty,” Uncle Arban called sharply, and Marty let the brochure fall to the table. Suddenly nervous at the sets of eyes swiveling towards her, she scurried over to her uncle’s outstretched hand and followed the attendant behind the counter and to an empty cubicle. A pudgy dwarven man with a thick comb over sat behind the desk. His pencil mustache was the color of honey mustard and sat firmly above an unsmiling lip. Beneath heavy lids sat sharp brown eyes that scanned the trio as they approached. The sign on his immaculate desk read in bold white letters TADISH MITRA, OFFICE OF THE REGISTRAR. Pa and Uncle Arban settled on either side of her like stone guards. Tadish Mitra leaned over his desk, took in the three goblins with a calculating look, and frowned.

“What can I do for you folk today?” His voice was high and reedy.

All eyes swiveled to Marty. Heat rushed to her cheeks. This was her turn to speak, to say the reason they were here. Her mouth opened. “M-m-m---” She stopped. Opened her mouth again. “M-m-m-m-m-m-mmmmmmmmmm--” 

Tadish Mitra had raised a furry eyebrow at this point. “It’s okay, just spit it out.” A flare of indignation rose in Marty. Oh, just say the words? How easy. 

“Marrrr-rrr-rrr-rr-ij-j-j-jj-j--”

“Marriage certificate,” Pa cut in sharply, and Marty sighed. Tears of shame burned the corners of her eyes. Her face felt on fire. Tadish Mitra glanced at Pa, surprised.

“Ah. Marriage certificate? For...for her?”

“Aye.”

“But she can’t be more than thirteen - ah, but you people get married young, don’t you?” 

Pa ground his teeth. “Aye.”

The look Tadish Mitra gave Marty was one of undisguised fascination and pity as he pulled up a fresh screen. “Is she registered?”

Now it was Uncle Arban’s turn to jump in. “Yes, we had her registered about ten years ago.”

“Name?”

“Marty Straatveger.”

“Spell it for me?”

“S-T-R-A-A-T-V-E-G-E-R.”

“Date of birth?”

Pa sighed, and Arban replied, “I can give you a year.”

“Well, I need her full date of birth. Month and day.”

“I don’t have a month and day.”

“Girl was born in the spring,” Pa cut in. “En’t that enough?”

“No. But I can try to search by her ID number.”

Arban recited it from memory. “One-two-one-three-seven-four-six-eight-four-thr…”

“Hmm, that’s not pulling up anything. You sure that’s right?”

Embarrassed, Arban coughed. “Of course it’s right.”

“Repeat it again for me?”

So many questions. Did this Tadish Mitra need to know everything about her? How many hairs she had on her head, or the color of the dirt under her fingernails? Pa’s ill-concealed eye rolling matched how she felt, but she wished he’d do a better job of hiding it. What if Tadish Mitra refused to help them because of Pa’s disrespect? This wasn’t their world, it was his, down to the rubber stamp with the polished brass handle that gleamed like the sun. 

“Current address?”

“Er--” Uncle Arban paused. “A marriage form doesn’t require a current address. Form 583B, right?”

“True…” Tadish Mitra admitted, a bit grudgingly. “I don’t need the full address, but I will, to put something down for the district. New rules this year.”

“Ah. Er--” Now it was Uncle Arban’s turn to be at a loss for words. Pa and Marty both stared at him expectantly. 

Reading the pause, Tadish Mitra offered, “I have a map. Would you be able to point it out?”

“Yes, that would be helpful.”

A laminated map of the city was produced from a filing cabinet and laid out on the table. A fat dwarven thumb pressed a greasy print on a red dot. “That’s us. Do you see your home here?”

Pa leaned over, pretending to study the map as if he knew what it said. Uncle Arban frowned. Marty could see the black line that marked the Darpana River, tracing through downtown and winding its way south. Below, right on the edge of the map, the criss-cross line denoting bus routes had a lone X near the river’s edge. That must have been the bus stop they boarded on - the southernmost route that led into the heart of downtown. If that was true, then their home wasn’t anywhere on this map. Marty tapped a finger right below the map, on the hardwood of the desk. All three men turned to stare at her.

“H-h-h-here,” Marty stammered out. “W-we live h-h--”

“What’s she saying?” Tadish Mitra glanced at Pa.

“She’s sayin’ we don’t live nearby,” he muttered. Marty nodded. 

“Ah.” Another map was produced, this one containing waterways and industrial zones. Marty scooted in, tracing the line of the Darpana River with one thumb while the men watched silently. Quickly she did some calculating in her head. A half mile trip from the bus route, along the western fork, at the skiff’s maximum speed, would put them right around…

“H-h-h-here.” She tapped the map. Tadish Mitra took the map back, squinted at it, and frowned.

“Unincorporated Darpana River Basin?” he questioned skeptically. “You’re sure?” He didn’t look at her, but at Pa and Uncle Arban.

“Yes, that’s right,” Uncle Arban cut in. “That’s still within the city limits, correct?”

“Yeah, technically.” Tadish Mitra’s mouth was twisted in skepticism, but he punched the district into the form. “Didn’t even know there was anybody livin’ there. Isn’t that all industrial runoff?” When he didn’t get an answer, he muttered something to himself. Marty’s sensitive ears twitched. 

_That explains the smell._ Pa’s orange eyes smoldered, but he said nothing. Uncle Arban’s mouth was a tight, forced smile. “All right. And who shall I put as the groom?”

“Just leave that blank for now,” Uncle Arban replied.

Tadish Mitra blinked. “Well...it will have to be filled in and returned in order for the marriage certificate to be considered valid.”

“Understood.”

“So...you’re sure you don’t want a name in here?”

“Quite sure. It hasn’t been decided yet.”

The dwarf’s eyes flicked to Marty. “So she doesn’t know who she’s marrying?”

Her uncle’s patience with Tadish Mitra was starting to wear thin; Marty could see the threads of his mask beginning to unravel. “We have arranged marriages, and her groom-to-be hasn’t been selected yet.”

“Huh. Wild.” The sound of an ancient printer firing to life sounded behind her. Idly, Marty wondered why no one had bothered to fix the squeak in the ribbon. With agonizing slowness, the printer released the page millimeters at a time. While it sawed away, a fly buzzed near her ear. If she’d been home, she would’ve smashed it on her palm and licked her hand clean, but of course she couldn’t do that here. The high-pitched whining hovered just out of reach, and with every fiber she longed to kill it. 

After eons, the dwarf handed the paper to Uncle Arban. “Well, here you go. Remember, you gotta come back and have the groom’s name and information filled in for it to be considered valid.” His voice took on the robotic tone of someone who had given the same speech hundreds of times before. ”When you fill it out, turn it in at the Office of the Registrar’s mailbox if we’re closed. It takes 10-14 business days for it to go through the system, but once it does, based on the reported income levels, she and her new husband will be able to qualify for free-and-low-cost family planning services through the Darpana Social Community Grant.” A brochure was handed to Uncle Arban along with the letter. “You folk also might qualify for free or reduced lines of credit at certain financial institutions, if you can provide copies of your income statements and utility bills to the Registrar’s office.” Another brochure was added to the stack. “Oh, and I can take your fee for today by cash or check. Which would you prefer?”

“Cash.” Uncle Arban still wore the same polite look, but his answer to Tadish Mitra was crisp. 

“Great. That’ll be 46 dollars.”

Her uncle blinked. “Did the price go up?”

“Yes. It used to be 40. Now there’s an administrative fee. New rules.”

Her uncle and Pa looked at each other for a long moment, before Pa reached into his pocket and withdrew the two coins he’d been saving for lunch. Uncle Arban did the same. With a sinking realization, Marty did the math. As she slowly pulled out her two coins, her stomach gave a growl of protest. Her uncle took the six coins and stacked them on the counter, along with two wrinkled twenty-dollar bills.

"Here."

"Great. I'll get this processed and give you folks a receipt. One moment." The dwarf stepped out from behind the desk and walked to the front of the room. The three of them sat in silence while they waited for him to come back.

“All right, there you are miss. If you’ll just sign here?” The pen was blurred, floating in her vision. Woodenly she plucked it from his hand and signed _Marty Straatveger_ in looping script, like Bana had taught her. Tadish Mitra blew on the signature gently to dry the ink before folding it into the envelope.

“That’s a lovely signature,” he complimented. “Here you folks go. Have a nice day.” Leaning around them, he called into the lobby. “Number 34?”

They’d been officially dismissed. Pa turned on his heel and strode towards the door without looking back. Uncle Arban and Marty followed behind quickly. As she left, an elven child stared open-mouthed at the three of them, tugging on his mother’s blouse as they passed. Pa didn’t stop walking until they were out of the office, past the coffee shop, and outside the building. 

“Frits,” her uncle was saying, huffing to keep up with Pa’s long strides, “we got what we came for. These city folk don’t know our ways. Would you slow down?”

Pa’s orange eyes, fully slitted, glared down at him. “When’s the next bus?”

Uncle Arban glanced at the nearby stop, at the scrolling marquee lit in neon red. “Three hours.” At his look, he added, “The route only leaves twice a day. We’ve been over this.” Her Pa looked at her uncle, then at Marty, then out at the crowds. The walkways were packed with people and the revolving doors were a boiling churn of commuters, many of whom gave the trio sidelong looks of suspicion as they entered the building. Horns blared in the intersection as the light turned green. On the corner, a vendor with a bullhorn was shouting in an unfamiliar language at the crowd. The heat baked the concrete around them, the air shimmering with warmth.

“Pa,” Marty ventured cautiously. “I’m h-hungry.” Almost instantly she regretted the words as Pa’s eyes, wild and anxious, landed on her. No...behind her?

“Frits,” her uncle warned as Pa elbowed past the two of them. “Frits, you can’t do that here, godsdammit, they fine you for that--!” As Pa tore the lid off the nearest trash can, several commuters looked up in alarm. It clattered to the ground with a noise like a gong. With a gesture borne of long practice, Pa narrowed his gaze at the contents for a second before diving in like a bird going for a kill. Through the glass, Marty saw two guards rise from their spots at the security desk. Pa emerged with an armful of greasy pastry bags and a half-full bottle of some murky liquid.

“Hey!” the shout echoed. “You can’t do that here!”

Uncle Arban grabbed Marty by the elbow and together they bounded down the steps of City Hall. Adrenaline coursed through her as they leapt down the too-big stairs, ducking between the legs of pedestrians. More shouts chorused from behind her. “Sir. SIR!” 

“Your Pa is insane,” her uncle muttered under his breath as the two of them skittered across the crowded crosswalk. “Damn fool--”

“I can hear ye’,” a voice to her right panted, and all of a sudden there was Pa next to them. The security guards were on the other side of the street, the light flicking red. The sea of traffic surged, and the two men in black suits rolled their eyes, heading back towards the building. They were safe. Pa snorted in scorn at the suits before handing out his spoils. Marty glanced inside the pastry bag and pulled out a gooey, half-eaten cinnamon roll and a watermelon rind crawling with ants. Arban had the crumbs from a scone and the remains of an egg salad sandwich. Pa sampled the murky liquid in the glass, which proved to be warm kombucha. He downed half the bottle before passing it to Marty and starting in on a crushed bag of chips.

“That was risky--” her uncle began.

“Don’t start with me Arban,” he retorted. “We’re trash folk. We take what we’re given. And we’re never gonna be like them - no matter how much you talk like it.” At that, her uncle closed his mouth. The three of them ate in silence, huddled together as the towering crowd of nameless faces swirled past them.

=====================================================================

By the time Bores pulled around with the skiff, the sun was low in the sky. Her older brother was picking his teeth with a nail, leaning on the tiller nonchalantly. Rutje and Finez were nowhere in sight. Pa and Uncle Arban sat on opposite ends of the boat, not looking at each other.

Bores’ yellow eyes flicked back and forth between the two goblin men. “How’d it go?”

“Fine,” Pa grunted. “Cast off.” 

Marty had sat between the two of them, listening to them argue all afternoon. It had never occurred to her before today how much Pa must dislike Uncle Arban, or how much her uncle disdained his brother-in-law. After their scrounged lunch, they wandered back to the bus stop and sat down in the hot sun. Marty had somehow gotten stuck between them as they traded insults back and forth. On the bus, it had been standing room only, and they’d hissed at each other through pointed teeth the entire ride back. By the time they’d worn themselves out, Marty felt lightheaded. The sun had begun to hurt her eyes, causing her head to pound. Her stomach growled again but she knew for a fact the words wouldn’t come, so why bother trying? They’d forgotten she was there anyway. Everyone always forgot.

At long last, the bus had cleared out until it was just the three of them left. When it finally creaked to a stop, she’d stepped off with a sigh of relief. Now a slight breeze blew in from the south, wafting the greasy black smoke off the river and clearing a path home.

The skiff cut through the rainbow sheen of water, sweeping downstream with the current at a fast clip. The rows of shanties on stilts began to look familiar. Marty’s stomach gave a loud growl. Hopefully Ma had dinner waiting. She usually made enough for Uncle Arban when he had to make a trip into the city, but with the way today had gone, Pa might not even let him come into the house. Rutje and Finez were likely out finding something to drink, and probably wouldn’t be back until late tonight. Rmaa would be watching the twins and Baya would be napping. The thought of her, Ma, Pa, and Bores sitting in silence at the table eating was enough to snuff out Marty’s final flicker of optimism. Her eyes sullenly tracked the muddy waves as they slopped against the boat, and she unsuccessfully tried to recall the adventure she’d had with Baya the night before. Maybe it was the heat of the afternoon, but the cool darkness of the sewers seemed a million miles away. And if Baya stuck to his word, there’d be no second time. 

The rusted orange tin of their house came into view as the skiff rounded the bend, and Bores angled towards it. Ma was waiting on the porch by the ladder, her red kerchief bound tight as a drum around her head. As the boat pulled up to the dock, Ma leaned over the railing. “Ya get it?”

“Ya,” Pa yelled up. 

“Ya hungry? More spider eggs ready if you want ‘em. Arban?”

Her uncle side-eyed her Pa before answering, “I’ll take some to go, Maartje. I should be getting home.” The _snuff_ of air from Pa’s nostrils was quiet; if Uncle Arban heard it he gave no sign. 

“Nonsense, come on up, there’s enough.” Ma disappeared back into the house, and the two goblin men looked at each other. Bores and Marty stared at them, waiting to see what they’d do. 

Pa chewed on his thin lips. “Bores, tie off the boat.” Pa grasped the rungs of the ladder and scaled it quickly, with Arban following after a moment. Marty moved to follow, but a grip on her arm yanked her back toward her brother.

Bores’ eyes were set close together like all the Straatvegers, but his mouth drooped slightly on one side, giving his face a lopsided look. How had Marty never noticed it before? His breath was hot on her cheek. “You bring anything good back?” Marty shook her head and Bores’ beady eyes narrowed in disappointment. “Y’all spent all day downtown doin’ stuff for you, while I sat here in the sun and watched the boat, and you got nothin’ for me?” Without asking, he opened the plastic bag she’d taken from the Citizen Services office and fished through it. He quizzically looked through the brochures, snorting once before tossing them overboard. Marty sighed. So much for new reading materials. She left Bores emptying the bag of its contents while she climbed the ladder. The real important documents were safely in Uncle Arban’s coat anyway. 

Ma was looking with satisfaction at the certificate, holding it to the light to admire the embossed paper. “That’s a real nice signature, Marty,” she complimented. Without looking at her oldest daughter, she added, “Help yourself to some dinner, eh?” 

Uncle Arban and Pa sat at the table chewing on two eggs each, still glowering but clearly in a better mood with food in their stomachs. Rmaa and the twins weren't there, although the sinkful of dirty dishes and the bits of egg covering the floor seemed to indicate they’d already eaten. Marty’s eyes glanced at the pan and her heart sank. In the bowl was a single egg. Bores’ speech down in the skiff played again in Marty’s head. 

For a dangerous second, the room grew blurry. “N-no th-th-thanks Ma. Not h-h-hungry.”

“You feelin’ sick?”

The lie came easily on her tongue. “Ya--”

“Well, go to bed then if you need the sleep. The ink on this is so bright! Did ya have to pay extra for that?” Ma exclaimed.

“Ya, forty-six dollars this year,” Pa said around a mouthful of egg. 

“Forty-six?!”

Bores came thumping into the room. Bending down first to hug Ma, who gave him a distracted kiss on the cheek, he then scooped out the remaining egg on the stove and popped it into his mouth. “Mmm….” he moaned in appreciation as he settled at the table.

“Now we just gotta figure out the right match for Marty,” her uncle said, wiping his greasy beard off with his fingers. “There’s a lot of choices…”

“Not really, on account of her not speaking,” Pa interjected. “People talk, they think she’s touched in the head.”

“Well we know that’s not true,” Ma countered after a slight pause. “She’s just….shy. We gotta show her off a bit more.”

“She also reads too much,” Pa continued to complain. “Girls shouldn’t read so much. Rmaa at least gets out of the house.”

“We just need to find someone who’s not too picky,” Ma mused. “What about the Groen boy? He’s got that lazy eye, but they live in that big house on the other end of the alley.”

“There’s fourteen of ‘em in there,'' Pa growled. “And she’s not marryin’ any Groens if I have anything to say about it.”

“What’s wrong with the Groens, they’re a fine clan!”

“Their babies would be hideous!” Bores bit back a choked laugh and even her uncle smiled at that.

“Fine, fine, no Groens then. What about the Waagelar cousin on my side, the one whose wife died after their fifth, he’s a bit on the older side but not _terribly so_ \--”

“He’s about to keel over, he’d never be able to give her any babies.”

Her uncle added, around a mouthful of egg, “He might have a heart attack trying, but he would try.” The table erupted in chuckles. 

As they continued to banter and discuss, Marty sidled out of the room, closing the curtain behind her. The bed was empty except for Baya, who slumbered in his customary spot with his back to her. Marty sighed. The room was blurry again. “Woke up this mornin’, hopelessness fixin’ to drive me insane,” she sang softly. “How could I know then that the end of this day would bring relief…” Her voice cracked, and she stopped. Looking at the ceiling, she made herself count to ten. Her stomach growled loudly again. Opening her mouth, she sang low and quiet in the same tune to the empty darkness. “If you borrowed me tomorrow, I wouldn’t complain…”

Slowly she crawled into bed, staring at the ceiling and sniffling. Baya was a rock next to her. Eventually the noise of the other room faded into wordless chatter and an uneasy sleep took her, full of vague gnawing stomach aches and trash flows submerged in muddy water. In her dream, the skiff tumbled along the rapids of the river, tiller a broken mess. Tadish Mitra sat in the back, ignoring her as he filled out forms and stamped them with approval. Sliding the paperwork into envelopes, he licked them and threw them overboard. _Don’t marry the Groen boy, he’s got a lazy eye!!_ The dwarf repeated in a singsong voice--

She jerked awake. It was pitch black again. The whole family was in bed, sleeping soundly next to her. Except for Baya, who stood at her side, tapping her on the shoulder. He wore a black poncho and black rubber boots. In his hand was a rucksack and another poncho - hers.

Their eyes met in the darkness, and the compassion with which he regarded his oldest granddaughter was echoed by the nudge of his head towards the door. 

========================================================================


	2. Salvation in Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marty spends her nights underground with Baya exploring a new world and a new language that brings them closer. Above ground, the days tick down to her dreaded nuptials, threatening to separate her from her grandfather and everything she holds dear. As her fate seems sealed, a new voice emerges from her dreams. Who is it that that tempts her dreams and beckons her to challenge the depths?

=======================================================

This time, Baya held her hand as they moved through the alleyway. Marty could hardly contain the thrill of excitement. Her small hand was swallowed by her grandfather’s, even with her black gloves on. The growl of her empty stomach was easily ignored. She was going back! 

Unlike last night, the alley was alive with activity. A black cluster of furry coats and fleshy tails hungrily devoured something in the shadows, and Baya hurried her past it. If the rats were infected, they would pursue, but beyond a few suspicious squeaks and beady red glares, they left the pair alone. With any luck, they’d be full of blood and sleepy by the time they came back this way. Last winter, when the rats were thin and vicious from hunger, they had roamed the streets in packs. That was how Ma’s cousin had lost her oldest son, when he stayed out too late and got cornered in a box alley running from them. His screams had echoed down the block and given the twins nightmares for weeks afterward. After that, the whole family had made sure they were in the house before dark, even Rutje. 

Tonight, these rats were fat from summer feeding and more than content to leave them alone. Even still, Baya glanced over his shoulder every few yards until they were out of earshot. He motioned for her to put her gas mask on. “Goindeeptonight”, he mumbled. Unable to contain her excitement, she did as he said. The onyx goggles refracted the light from the streetlamp, giving the world a kaleidoscope effect. Baya was a smudge of black in front of her. Reaching out, he double checked the seals on her mask. The blur gestured at her feet and bent down to the manhole cover, tugging it free after a few failed attempts. This was a different entrance than the one he’d taken the night before. As he lifted the hatch, a cloud of haze erupted from the opening. Even with the gas mask, Marty stepped back in alarm. It was impossible to tell what color the smoke was through the goggles. Baya gestured for her to go first. Kneeling down, she felt for the rungs she knew must be there. When her fingers brushed metal, she swung her legs over the lip and began to descend. Above her, she could feel the ladder shift with Baya’s weight. The light winked out as he closed the hatch after him.

The air was hot and thick, with no illumination. Her gloves were thick and bulky. Marty descended slowly, feeling for one rung at a time. Above her she could hear the scrape of Baya’s boots against concrete. There was no other sound. How far down were they going? He’d said deep, but what did that mean?

Her feet touched the bottom faster than she expected. She held a glove out into the darkness to feel for Baya and partly to keep her balance. His hand grasped hers as he landed with a thump next to her. Patiently, she waited for him to lead her onward. 

A burst of light made her blink and recoil. Baya held a battered flashlight in one hand. Pointing it forward, he motioned with his free hand for her to follow. The tunnel was narrow and cramped. Unlike the sewers she was used to, this path was bone-dry and filled with a thick haze that reduced the visibility to almost zero. The path dropped sharply, turned right, sloped downward, turned left, and then narrowed to a point so low that she had to get on her belly and crawl, shoving her rucksack in front of her. 

Her grandfather miraculously seemed to know exactly where he was going. He reached down a hand to help her up as the narrow point ended, holding out a hand to brace her against the wall when she stood to her feet. There must be a drop off in front of them, she realized as they edged along the smooth concrete edge. He still held the flashlight in front of him, but the haze remained as thick as ever. 

Eventually a small lip emerged from the fog and Baya stepped onto it. As she made to join him, he held out a hand in warning and shook his head. Patiently, she waited as he felt his way along the wall, which was smooth and made of some dark substance. His fingers seemed to find what they were looking for, pressing some button that was invisible from this distance. From somewhere behind him, a sudden gust kicked up, pulling at his poncho. The cavern filled with a whirring mechanical sound. The noise reminded Marty of the summer locusts, moving in great swarms and descending on the tin roof of the house at night with the buzzing click of a thousand legs. Her stomach grumbled at the thought.

The smoke billowed around her, swirling upwards into the darkness. Marty held back a gasp of fear as the view cleared. Inches from her feet lay a yawning black chasm. Wriggling black lichens carpeted the sides, curling and uncurling their tendrils. The lip of stone Baya stood on was no more than two feet wide at its widest point, tapering off to a sheer rock face. Vertigo gripped Marty, the insides of her gloves suddenly slick with perspiration. The wall she was braced against was too smooth, with nothing to grip onto. 

A sharp grunt from Baya brought her back to earth. A black gloved hand appeared in her vision and she grabbed it without thinking. A jolt, and she flew into his arms. 

“Scared?” the voice was muffled. The question he didn’t ask hung in the air between them. 

Marty took a deep breath, and answered both questions. “ _ Nai _ .” Pushing away, she brushed herself off. Baya grunted in affirmation. Reaching for the coil of rope around his waist, he shook it out. He tied off a double hitch from a hook in the metal plating that sat barely higher than the ground. Quickly, he yanked on the knot to make sure it was secure. The onyx goggles fixed themselves on her, glassy and emotionless. 

“Igofirstthenfollow.  _ Verstaan?”  _ Marty nodded to show she understood. 

Baya braced himself on the lip of the rock, rope firmly gripped in both hands. “Gofast.” Before Marty could respond, he launched himself into empty space. The rope yanked taut and snapped tight against the hitch as Baya sailed out of sight. The tendrils rippled like water, the thick branches grasping towards the source of the disturbance. Marty craned her neck over the edge, but already he was out of sight. For a lonely moment, it was just her on the ledge, the wind whipping at the thick rubber of her poncho.

There was a tug on the rope, and then it went slack. From far below, the voice of her grandfather floated up. “Marty!”

That was her cue. Heart racing, hands slick with sweat, she gripped the rope and braced herself on the ledge just like he had. The vertigo hovered at the edge of her consciousness, ready to descend again, but she stubbornly ignored it this time. Baya would make her go back on her own if she backed out now.  _ Three...two...one… _

Her legs kicked her off and for a moment she was flying, plummeting into the black. Then the rope caught and she swung towards grasping vines, slamming into the wall with none of the grace of her grandfather. The air left her lungs in an instant, her shoulder blossoming in pain. Something grabbed at her ankle, and another thick arm snaked around her waist.

“Climbdown--!” That was Baya, voice tight with anxiety. A beam of light cut through the fog and the darkness, throwing everything into sharp relief. “Kickoff!” 

Marty obeyed, slamming an elbow into the tendril around her waist. She could’ve sworn she heard it squeak in pain as it recoiled. She kicked at the other one around her ankle and it shuddered, untangling itself. A ripple of alarm seemed to spread through the rest of the vines, and a narrow strip of bare concrete became visible around her feet. Scraping her boots on the hard surface, she quickly rappelled down. 

When her boots touched ground, the first thing she noticed was the squishy texture. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but the softness surprised her for a moment. Baya waved a relieved hello with the flashlight, directing her towards him. Pulling her away from the wall, he brushed off her poncho, making her turn once or twice before he was satisfied. She longed to ask him about the vines, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to get the question out. Instead, she pointed to them and then lifted both palms to the sky in a shrug.

Baya was motionless for a moment, then shook his head. Apparently his brief outburst was enough for his tongue for one day. Bending down to the ground, he mimicked burying something, then gestured an arc over his head with the flashlight. He repeated the motions twice to make sure she understood. 

So it was a plant of some kind, not an animal like she’d feared. Growing up from deep underground, towards the surface. The list of questions suddenly quadrupled. How could plants grow with no sun? Was it dangerous? How far down did the roots go? Or were  _ these  _ the roots and it was actually growing  _ down _ …? A lump of frustration rose in her throat. How was she supposed to get answers when she couldn’t ask and Baya couldn’t answer? Even writing them down wouldn’t work, since Baya couldn’t read. 

As she wrestled with words neither could speak, Baya began walking away, bouncing slightly on the squishy surface. It didn’t ripple exactly, but more sank and re-formed with each step, releasing a puff of vapor into the air. Testing with his foot, he drove his heel into various parts of the ground until he reached a particularly soft section that caved before his boot with a  _ squish.  _ Bending down, he withdrew a long hooked knife from its sheath under his poncho. Marty’s curiosity won out over her frustration and she moved closer to watch what he would do next.

With the first slice, the plant shuddered. Baya peeled away a thick wedge of black membrane the texture of a mushroom. Inside, the gills were a bright cherry red. He laid the neatly cut square on the side of the hole he’d just made and kept cutting. With every swish of the knife, the plant shivered. The lichens nearest the hole writhed, coiling and twisting on themselves. Marty made a motioning noise, rubbing her stomach -  _ good to eat? -  _ but the violent shake of Baya’s head dashed her hopes. Out of guesses, Marty resigned herself to wait until he was done cutting. As the hole got deeper, he moved to lay on his stomach, hacking at it with his knife. 

_ rrrrrriiiiippp-- _

A cloud of smoke poured from the opening and Baya reeled back, waiting until the worst of it had passed before peering into the hole he’d just made. Marty ventured a look inside. The last of the membrane hung from a tendril, dangling into….

The vertigo was suddenly back, but this time Baya didn’t wait to check on her before slithering inside. A deep purple light pulsed from the opening, emitting gently from a cluster of upside-down fronds. As Marty peered over the edge, the form of her grandfather sliding down a milky white stem disappeared into the fog. Too afraid of being left behind not to obey, she grasped the same stem and wrapped herself around it. She hesitated for an awful second as her fear of heights warred with her fear of being left behind.  _ Three...two...one... _

The space below was decorated in a deep purple light, somehow dark and bright all at the same time. All around her, delicate stalks hung in looping lacy patterns. As Marty launched herself off the lip of the hole, the plant seemed to bend under her weight, sending her sliding at a speed that was entirely too fast for her comfort. The stem she’d chosen was growing in a corkscrew shape, and so she spiraled quickly down, down, down. The wind whipped by her so fast, she barely had time to take in the beauty of her surroundings. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest.

Baya was waiting for her at the bottom and caught her as she fell. He staggered backwards a couple steps, then regained his footing and set her down gently. He gestured to the space around them and then stomped on the ground twice. Marty shook her head. He did it again. Still not understanding, Marty shrugged. Even with the mask on, she could sense the annoyed look he was probably giving her. Sighing audibly, Baya beckoned for her to follow, and turned on his heel.

As they walked, Marty took a moment to absorb the new surroundings they’d fallen into. Clouds of thick fog gently swirled around the two of them as they walked. The purple glow gave everything a pale rainbow sheen, but did nothing to obscure the deep shadows that engulfed the space. Craning her neck, she glanced upwards. Perhaps ten meters above, a thick black membrane sealed the tunnel, white fronds dangling gently towards the ground. One stem, thick and twisted like a trunk, sat rooted in the ground, connecting the membrane to the earth to support its weight. The fog drifted upwards, pouring from slatted vents set into the walls. As the fog touched the fronds, it seemed to condense, leaving milky white beads of liquid on the stems. Marty watched in fascination as the beads, fat and round, rolled into fleshy-looking cups attached to the end of the stem. Why was there nothing like this plant up on the surface? 

A snap of fingers near her face startled her out of her thoughts. Baya was kneeling in front of a vent, removing the cover. Gesturing for her to follow, he began to crawl through the opening. Marty followed, instinctively holding her breath as the fog washed past her body. Whatever this vapor was, it was clearly poisonous, or at the very least harmful to breathe. What was it? Gas rising from vents far below them? Smoke from a burning fire? Cloud vapor? Were there clouds down here? If there were plants and animals down here, could there be weather? For the eight hundredth time, Marty wished desperately that there was some way she could make Baya understand her.

The vent forked downward and Baya took the lower path. This way was clear of the fog, and as it dissipated, Marty could see the faint outline of another slatted vent. This one Baya merely pushed out of the way. It clattered to the floor with a loud echo. As they crawled out, Baya gestured to her to remove her mask. This section was safe. 

With relief, Marty unbuckled the seal around her neck and peeled herself out of her mask. There was a faint red light coming from an emergency bulb above her head, illuminating the space. They were in a small room, about the same size as a human-sized tool shed. At the far end sat a large circular vent with a fan in it. The blades chopped through the air quickly, bringing in warmth that tasted of wet and sun-dried soil. In the corner was a pallet with a blanket. Boxes lay scattered around the space, some of them tightly closed. On a shelf in the other corner sat a stack of papers and a pair of battered binoculars. Old maps were tacked on the wall, along with a tattered emerald flag showing a split yellow circle of the Darpana Liberation Front. 

Realization slowly dawned on Marty. This was a private space of his, a retreat away from the rest of the family. The DLF flag, the old maps? Things that Pa and her brothers would pawn off in an instant. Things the Borrower might find and take for himself. Safe down here away from goblins and gods alike. And now he was showing it all to her. 

As if he could read her thoughts, Baya nodded. The look on his face was a mixture of pride and embarrassment. He made a one-armed motion of the room -  _ here’s the grand tour  _ \- and then bent to retrieve her a stool. Gesturing for her to sit, he then turned away from her and began to rummage through a box. Marty continued to stare at the decorations on the walls, trying to recall scraps of memory from the war with the LeQuin. Baya had been drafted as a teenager, she knew that much. The LeQuin, with their iron war beasts that walked on two legs and belched steam with every step, had rolled over every small town and village on their creeping march across Sehore. A pressgang had come down to the river basin, rounded up all the healthy goblin boys and gave them weapons and DLF uniforms. Without even a chance to say goodbye, Baya had been marched off that same afternoon to the barracks being set up at the edge of the city. Why would someone want to keep things that reminded them of that?

A cup of something dark and hot was shoved into her hand. Marty glanced up in surprise. Baya had fished a plastic package out of the box and torn it open. Carefully, he had ripped the plastic along perforated lines and spread it out as a kind of mat. On the mat were a bunch of packets of food. Eagerly, he motioned for her to drink. 

As she took her first sip, the smell hit her nose and her mind flashed back to the coffee shop in Concordia Heights.  _ This  _ was what all those people were waiting in line for? The bitterness almost made her gag, but the second she swallowed it, her stomach growled fiercely and she took another sip. It was warm, and incredibly bitter. But her body didn’t care. She took a gulp, burned her tongue, took another. 

Something else was shoved in her hand, a heated packet of something meaty and squishy-looking. She squeezed the contents into her mouth and swallowed. Some sort of stew in a tomatoey sauce, with rice, and vegetables, and  _ actual meat _ \--

Marty slid off the stool and onto the ground in front of Baya. She ate all the contents of the packet, squeezing every drop out of it. He took it from her hand and passed her a foil container of biscuits. Ripping into them, she popped the first one into her mouth whole. It was dry as dust, and she coughed on it. She took another frantic sip of coffee and bit into the second biscuit voraciously. The food from this morning seemed like ages ago. As she tore through the third biscuit, tears began to form in the corners of her eyes. A choked sob left her lungs in a cloud of crumbs. Baya stared at her with a look of sad understanding, taking the empty foil from her when she was done and wiping her face. Another packet was placed in her hand. This one was white and merely said “chocolate pudding” on the front. As she squeezed it into her mouth, the gooey sweetness hit her tongue and fresh tears coursed down her cheeks. Whatever “chocolate pudding” was, she wanted it to never end. She paused just long enough to down another gulp of coffee.

After a few minutes, the sobs turned into quiet hiccups. She finished the rest of the coffee and with a sigh returned the empty cup to Baya. Her stomach grumbled happily. Baya smiled at her and gently patted her arm as he got up to put the cup back on the shelf. Warm and full for the first time today, she sighed in contentment. Idly, she glanced at the mat of plastic, looking for leftover crumbs. 

A letter in the corner of it caught her eye. M, and then the corner of another letter. She flipped the plastic over.  _ Meal Ready to Eat - Property of the Darpana Liberation Front.  _ There, stamped on the white plastic, was the yellow split circle on a green background. That meant the food she’d just eaten had to have been roughly forty years old. The dusty residue in her mouth suddenly made a lot more sense - everything she’d just eaten was Baya’s age, if not older. Why would he keep forty-year-old food?

She looked up to see Baya staring at her reading, and she let her eyes drift back to the floor, suddenly uncomfortable. When Ma or Pa would catch her reading at home, the look in their eyes was always the same. They seemed to know how practical it was - Ma was always pointing to signs or labels to ask Rmaa what was said - but there was an undercurrent of something in the way they looked at Marty that left her uneasy. A small piece of her mind wondered if her family found it selfish that she couldn’t talk. All that knowledge, all those words, and no plan to share them with anyone. But that wasn’t fair - she  _ wanted  _ to talk. There were days when she had so many things to say, it seemed like they’d burst out of her mouth.

A book slapped into her lap. Looking up in surprise, she was astonished to see Baya motion to her.  _ Go ahead, it’s all right.  _ Reeling, she picked up the dusty title. Primly bound in blue canvas, the words were stamped in big block letters on the front. BASIC TRAINING MANUAL. In smaller letters, it read, PROPERTY OF THE DARPANA LIBERATION FRONT. The binding crackled as she opened it. The yellowed pages were neatly typed in block text. In choppy script at the top of the page, there was a signature:

_ Wout, _

_ You can’t just throw it away. I said I’d help you, didn’t I? _

_ One day I’ll teach your miserable ass to read this. _

_ I love you. _

_ Daan _

Marty made sure to keep her face neutral. Wout was Baya’s given name. Ma had said that he’d been promised to Bana before the war started, and married her right after coming back. Marty was sure she’d never heard anyone mention a Daan. 

Marty’s gaze drifted from the book to a photo pinned on the wall. Two goblin teenagers dressed in identical DLF uniforms. One was clearly a younger version of Baya, eyes rolled towards the sky as if someone had just said a bad joke. The other goblin had his arm draped casually over Baya’s shoulders. This one had a bright red patch of hair and a big grin, showing rows of white pointed teeth. The patch on the other teenager’s vest said  _ D. Simons. _

Baya met her eyes, the look in them questioning. Marty held up the book and pointed to the letters. Baya shrugged. She pointed to the photo on the wall, then to the book, then placed a hand over her heart. At that, a shadow fell over his face. He glanced down at the signature on the page and frowned.

Marty hesitated, wondering how much she should push her luck. Had Baya ever learned to read the words in the book? Even if he couldn’t, he might have guessed that whatever Daan had written might be revealing. Yet another reason why it might be hidden down here. Flipping through the pages, Marty searched for more clues, something she could use to clarify what she was trying to say. The question was right on the tip of her tongue, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to get the words out. 

The page fell open to a series of pictures. Hands decorated the page, twisted or bent into symbols. THE BASICS OF MILITARY COMBAT SIGNALS, it read at the top. Marty stopped short, studying the pages. Hand signals that could mean words? 

Across the paper danced pictures of hands in various poses, with the word meaning below it. An idea slowly unfolded in Marty’s mind. Glancing up, she was startled to see Baya standing in front of her, his frown deeper than before. He held his hand out for the book, clearly uncomfortable. Marty shook her head. A look of irritation crossed his face, and he gestured again for the book, more strongly this time. 

It was worth a try. Giving one more quick look at the page to make sure she got the signal right, she balled her right hand into a fist, and then extended it into a plank, making an x-shape against her other hand.  _ Not yet. _ Baya’s eyebrows shot up, and the look of pure surprise sent a rush of elation down Marty’s spine. Had he actually understood it?

She followed it up with another sign, this one curling her hand into a loose fist, extending her smallest finger, swooping it in a backwards u-shape, and touching the tip to her temple.  _ Understand? _

_ Yes _ , he replied emphatically, nodding.  _ Yes, understand!  _ He repeated the sign again. Joy swelled in her chest. He understood her. He understood her! Suddenly dying to ask him another question, she flipped through the book, searching through the pages for the right sign. So many of these were dedicated to specific military needs. Halt, advance, retreat - interesting, but not what she needed right now. 

A section fell open to terrain descriptions, and suddenly she had her second question. There wasn’t one in the book for sewer, but  _ valley  _ might work….she made a downward v-shape with both her hands. He tilted his head to the side, but nodded.  _ Valley...deep valley… _ how to ask how far down they were? Should she use numbers? There was a page for numbers. Doing some quick mental math, she held up a series of fingers on her left and right hands.  _ Deep valley...fifty meters? _

Baya blinked. Marty repeated the sign. He shook his head. Deflating a little, Marty repeated it a third time, this time tapping her foot on the ground after she was done.  _ Here.  _

Still looking unsure, Baya motioned something back. This symbol she didn’t recognize, an elaborate looking S-curve that had a slight tail on the end. Baya bent over, flipped the book to the page, and pointed to the diagram. The word underneath it said  _ tunnel _ . He made the sign again, this time with eyebrows raised. A question.  _ Did you mean tunnel?  _

_ Yes. _ She bobbed her head in return.  _ Yes! Tunnel. Fifty….meters?  _ She pointed up to the surface.

Baya shook his head, signing quickly. Marty peered at his hands, studying the gestures. He did them again, slower.  _ Twenty.  _ He pointed downwards, then signed a large number.  _ Hundred. Two. Three. Four.  _ He shrugged. The sewers went down for four hundred feet further at least, if not more? Marty’s eyes grew wide as she looked down at the floor under her feet. What a labyrinth. Someone could get lost down here and never ever find their way back. The thought made the vertigo return, but with it a thrill. So much to explore in this world under the world. 

========================================================================

_ Halt.  _ A fist held in the air. Marty nodded her understanding and hung back while Baya examined the alley. Her mind spun, and in spite of how heavy her eyelids were, her whole body thrummed with excitement. Between the two of them, they’d managed to pick several signs out of the book -  _ forward _ ,  _ backward _ ,  _ up _ ,  _ down _ ,  _ halt _ , and  _ run _ . Marty had finally been able to ask some of her burning questions, and Baya in his broken way had done his best to answer her. The alcove was safe. No, he didn’t know - or didn’t understand - how many different animals there were down in the sewers. She’d tried to sign  _ alligator _ , but the closest sign in the book had been  _ threat _ , and all he’d done was shake his head and re-sign  _ safe _ . The things she wanted to ask very quickly outpaced the signs written in the book. If she wanted to get answers, she was going to have to get creative. 

_ Come on _ . He gestured to her and she crept across the alley. Dawn was breaking in the east already. Together, they shuffled as quickly as they dared towards the house. Ma would be up soon, and they were cutting it dangerously close. Frantically, Baya motioned her up the ladder, helping her shed her gas mask, poncho, and weighters once they were on the porch. No time to hose them off - hopefully Ma wouldn’t notice. With the stealth of a mouse, Baya eased open the door, holding it open so it wouldn’t squeak as loudly. The kitchen was dark and quiet except for the soft scuttling of cockroaches in the corners. 

The bedroom was just as she’d left it, her spot empty by Rmaa. Her sister had managed to flop over an elbow to her side, but fortunately for Marty, didn’t stir when she eased the elbow away and slid into bed. Baya’s spot on the other side of the bed, nestled against the frame by Bores, was undisturbed. Her oldest brother’s silhouette was motionless in the darkness, the smell of sugarscotch rolling off him in waves. Marty reached across the bed for Baya’s hand. He squeezed it once before releasing her and turning away to his side. Within a minute, the sound of quiet snoring floated from him. 

_ The map of tunnels lay before her, stretched out and pulsing like veins in a body. The weighters on her feet slogged through mud. A hunting knife was in her right hand. A length of fishing line hung in a loop from her waist. Her own body churned and hummed along with the machine around her. She was living, a part of this other living beast made of concrete and iron.  _

_ The white alligator. Covered in mud as well, it stared at her, the little hunter with knife and fishing line. The red eyes carried a hint of mild surprise, as if it hadn’t expected to see her again. It spoke. “I am not the oldest, nor the wisest of my brothers. But I am the fastest.” With lightning-quick precision, the reptilian body surged forward, carrying it at an impossible speed towards her. The jaws opened wide-- _

“Marty!” 

Her eyes snapped open and winced at the bright light streaming through the window. Rmaa stood at the foot of the bed, hands on her hips and an exasperated look on her face. Today her thick dark hair was twisted in a bun, with loose curls hanging attractively at strategic angles. It had probably taken her twenty minutes to perfect her look. She was wearing one of Marty’s old dresses, a faded burgundy split skirt tied with a yellow woven belt. It looked good on her - all of Marty’s hand-me-downs seemed to look better on Rmaa - but she shifted in it uncomfortably. “Ma told me to wake you. You sick?”

Marty shook her head, sitting up in bed with a soft sigh. The tiredness she hadn’t felt all night seemed to be here in full force now. Her eyelids felt so heavy, and her calves ached from all the climbing. “W-what t-t-time…?”

Rmaa huffed. “Dunno. Six-thirty maybe? Ma says it’s a scavenging day - there’s not enough left for supper. I’m borrowing your hat.” With that, she flounced out of the room. Marty groaned as her feet touched the floor. She’d gotten what, two hours of sleep? Two and a half? Either way, not enough. The remnants of her dream hung on her like cobwebs, leaving her shivering in the early morning chill. The white alligator had spoken to her in her dream. What had it said again? Something about its brothers. The nonsense of dreams.

The question plagued her as she slid her dress over her head and stumbled yawning into the kitchen. It was empty except for Rmaa and Baya. Her grandfather glanced blearily at her and nodded a silent good morning. At least she wasn’t the only one who would be struggling today. 

“Ma and Pa and the rest of them are already out,” Rmaa announced. “They sent me back to fetch you.” The matter-of-fact way she said it didn’t hint at what Marty knew to be true - if it was a scavenging day and the whole family was out, that meant there was nothing to eat. The mission today would be simple - find your supper, or go without. Her mind flashed back to the sea of spider eggs down in the sewers, or the stacks of VRA meals in Baya’s alcove. Could she find her way back there again? Likely not, without Baya’s help. Why hadn’t he shown anyone else his hiding spot, or the spider egg nest? There must be a reason. He never did anything without a good reason. For the millionth time, she wished she could ask him.

By the time Rmaa, Baya, and Marty arrived, the sun was well over the horizon. In the long early morning shadows, Marty could see stumped figures of other goblins pawing through heaps of garbage. Gray and black smoke from burning piles rose into the air, obscuring the light and casting everything in a haze. The rest of her family was present. Maybe a hundred yards to her left, Bores was wearing a bandanna and a sack. Wading determined through yellow muck, he managed to spear a floating plastic bottle and toss it into his sack. A full bag of plastic could be traded at one of the junk shops for a few coins, which wouldn’t buy much but would certainly help. One of the twins - Yan or Guli, it was impossible to tell which - was scampering shirtless and barefoot up a hill, chasing after a rat. 

Rmaa had fixed Marty’s hat, a wide-brimmed straw bonnet with frayed edges, firmly to her head and tied it under her chin. Pale skin was so important to her, even though she was scavenging for food just like the rest of them. Marty idly wondered what would have happened if she’d fought to wear the hat instead, then let the thought drop. It didn’t matter and she had no energy to care. The exhaustion threatened to topple her over right here, but that meant less time for searching. Sighing, she grabbed a sack and wandered over to a less crowded mound. 

The trick for scavenging was simple. Any metal or plastic went into the sack. Anything that looked sellable, even if it was missing parts, went into the sack. The dump site was regularly picked over each morning as people sifted through what the river current had brought the night before. If they had come at noon, everything of value would be gone. The shallows was the best place to look, but it was also where the current was strongest - and none of the Straatvegers could swim. 

As Marty scanned the trash heap, her mind drifted back to a more nagging puzzle. She needed more words to ask Baya the questions she really wanted answers to. How could she get him to understand her? For that matter, how did he even know she was asking him a question? The gesture for  _ safe  _ could just as easily be a statement - “We are safe” - instead of a question - “Are we safe?” Facial expressions could help with some of that, but not always, especially if she was wearing a mask. A plastic bottle was fiercely stabbed with her sharpened stick and added to the sack. One down, nineteen to go before the sack would be full. 

What if she needed to ask Baya yes or no questions? That was easy enough - the book had given the commands for  _ yes  _ and  _ no  _ on the first page. What if the questions weren’t yes or no? Asking Baya  _ why  _ it was safe, or  _ how  _ he knew - now that could get a lot harder. Could there be a sign in the book to show you were asking a question? If not, could she make one up? If she did, what would that look like? How could she make Baya understand that the question sign was for questions? Drawing a question mark in the air wouldn’t work, since he couldn’t read. It would have to be something else.

A glint of metal caught her eye, and she seized on it - but no, it was only a glittery piece of torn wrapping paper. Someone’s gift from long ago, tossed out like the rest of the trash. She let her hand fall, disappointed, and glanced up at the sun. Thirty minutes had passed. She would need to pick up the pace if she was going to get anything good. 

“Marty!” Ma’s voice called from the other side of the bluff. The silhouette of her mother stood against the blinding sun. Marty waved back. Ma held up her own sack and rattled the contents - half full. Marty shook her head and rattled her own - nearly empty. Ma tapped her wrist, and Marty acknowledged it with a sigh as her mother turned away.

Wait. Marty replayed the exchange in her head. It couldn’t possibly be that simple. Could it?

Something caught her eye, this time between her feet. She bent down to one knee and tugged. With a wrenching twist, it came free. The rusty knife had a dull sheen in the smoky morning light. It had clearly had a plastic handle at one point, but that was long gone. Only the metal remained, with two open holes drilled into the tang. Wrapped in the open holes was a snarl of wire. Dumbly, she stared at it for a moment before glancing around suspiciously. No one was paying attention to her; in fact, none of her family was visible at the moment. They must all be on the other side of the hill. 

As if her hands were moving on their own, Marty unwrapped the tangle of fishing wire and examined it. It was good quality wire - heavy but not too heavy, and clearly durable. Aside from some rust spots, the knife was also in decent shape, maybe even better after a good sharpening. The white alligator from her dream - she’d been hunting it, she was sure. Taking down an alligator with fishing wire and a knife - definitely a dream, and not even a very good one at that.

With detached calm, she watched her shaking hands hide the knife and wire in her shirt. 

========================================================================

_ This time, she was ready. The knife in one tiny fist, the loop of heavy wire in the other. She stood at the bottom of a sewer, looking up through the grate at a pair of red eyes.  _

_ The voice echoed from far away. “You should not have come back.” With impossible speed, the white bulk slithered out of sight. Marty scurried along the tunnel below. Above her, the body of the alligator flashed past.  _

_ “You are soft. A creature of the sun.” It’s voice, gravel on silk, taunted her. “And the monsters down here are lean and hungry.” _

_ A staircase rose out of the darkness and she raced down them as fast as she could to cut off the alligator’s sprint. Her belly burned with some emotion she could not name. She had to know...had to know what? It was hard to remember. She burst out of the grate, just in time to see the red eyes bearing down at her in the darkness. Marty felt rather than saw the jaws open wide. She ducked, and the grate slammed shut again just as a monumental force crashed down on it. The snap of teeth on empty air whistled past her ears. _

_ “What do you want, rat?” _

_ Her own voice answered back, clear and steady. “Tell me your name.” _

_ “Hmmm. And why would a rat like you want to know my name?” _

_ “Because I do not worship the sunshine.” _

_ “Of course you do. You are a tourist. You snatch eggs from expectant mothers and scurry back to the safety of the day.” The voice dripped with scorn. _

_ She winced. “I take what I need to survive. And it...it’s hard to live above ground. Life is…harsh up there.”  _

_ “You think life is not harsh down here? Do you know how deep my kingdom goes? There are things that sleep in the depths that would drive you mad with a single glance.” _

_ “Tell me. Your name.” _

_ The red eyes studied her. “Once you learn, there is no unlearning. The old one you travel with - even after all these years, even with all his cleverness, he resists the knowledge because he is afraid. What makes you think you are stronger than he is?” _

_ She had no answer for that. “I have to know.” _

_ “Very well then. Lean in close and I will tell you.” _

_ The warmth and rottenness of its breath was hot on her face as she pressed her cheek to the sewer grate. The jaws that could snap a human in half hovered centimeters away from her ear. The whispered name floated to her, wound its way around her, sank deep into her skin, and disintegrated. _

_ “Now fall.” A deep chuckle echoed around her. _

_ SMACK-- _

_ She cracked her way out of an eggshell, snout pointing towards the sun, primordial air filling her tiny lungs for the first time-- _

_ Cool water slapped against her face, and her jaws sank deep into the flesh of her first crab, joy filling every cell as she ripped it apart-- _

_ Fat with sewage, her powerful tail drove her into the depths, past the glowworms with their giant white blind eyes and the scrawlers with tentacles like pincers, and surveyed her domain from below-- _

_ Teeth sharper than knives sank into the body of Goa Goa, the giant toad, and as its blood splashed the bricks of her new kingdom and dripped down her jaws, the sewers felt the shift in power and trembled before their new god-- _

With a gasp, Marty jolted awake. “Sobek.” 

“Shhh,” one of the twins moaned before rolling over again. Beads of sweat popped out on her skin. Gradually her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She was in bed, surrounded by her family. The hollow ache in her belly a reminder of how little she’d found scavenging. The knife and wire were safely in her rucksack under the bed. Baya--

Baya rolled over to face her, eyes wide open. The look of confusion and worry was etched on his frown. He gestured to her.  _ All good? _

Marty nodded and smiled reassuringly, waiting until he rolled back over to let her smile fade.

It was the first time she’d lied to her grandfather.

========================================================================

“Chin up.” A clawed hand cupped her jaw and forced it to the sky. “Arms out.” Marty did as she was told, staring blankly at the ceiling with her arms outstretched. In front of her, a withered goblin with a mouth full of pins held a measuring tape to her, inspecting her body like a piece of meat. “Hmm.”

“What?” Ma stood nearby, frowning thoughtfully at her daughter. “What’s wrong?”

“Your girl’s thin as a rail. We’ll have to take the dress in. It’ll cost ya extra.”

The dress in question was sitting on a dressmaker’s form in the corner. Marty snuck a furtive look at it, then just as quickly looked away again. A white puffy tulle skirt melted into a tight bust, with tiny buttons in a line down the front. A Peter Pan collar and short cap sleeves, neatly ironed, completed the look. A pair of white flat shoes sat in a box nearby. It had been Great-Bana’s, and eight Straatveger women had worn it for their weddings since. It was the one possession Ma valued above all else, and someday Marty would be expected to dress her daughters and granddaughters in it. What would it be like to wear it? The fabric was so thin, designed to show rather than cover. Her curves - what of them there were - would be on display for everyone. For him, the groom she’d still never met. The thought caused a lump of dread to form in her throat. 

“How much extra?”

“Six dollars.”

“Six dollars?! Borrower take you, you miserable crone.” Ma spat. “Three.”

“Five-fifty.”

“ _ Four- _ fifty, and that includes patching the sleeve.”

“Fine. Done.” The crone cackled, and Marty winced. Another expense. Pa had already paid thirteen dollars for a wooden chest for Marty’s wedding gifts, and twenty-three for a barrel of sugarscotch for the reception. Uncle Arban had loaned Pa another forty for the family to get their shoes shined and clothes patched, and from their whispered arguments Marty knew that Uncle Arban was charging Pa interest this time. Pa would pay it, with the hope that the gifts from the guests would recoup the family’s losses and then some. But in the short term…

A comforting pat on the shoulder caused Marty to start. Glancing over her shoulder, she managed a small smile at Ma, who returned it despite the worried look in her eyes. “Never you mind, Marty. We’ll manage a way to pay for it. Rmaa’s good with a needle - we can work off some of the debt. Don’t worry so much.”

“T-t-tanks Ma. S-s-s-s-sorry Ma.” As Ma moved away, Marty caught Rmaa’s eye. Her younger sister had been sitting on the floor bored, flipping through a beauty catalog for most of the morning. Rmaa fixed Marty with a pointed glower before going back to her magazine. 

“So,” the crone muttered around a mouthful of pins, “we’ll a-fix new lace there on the hem, patch the sleeve, and take it in. Do ya want his name embroidered on the kerchief too?” She held up a square of worn linen with the word  Straatveger  embroidered on the corner. 

“ _ Ja _ , I suppose we should,” Ma said doubtfully. “It’s custom…”

“That’ll be an extra two-fifty to pick out the stitches and re-embroider it.”

Ma’s voice crackled. “One-fifty.”

“Two.”

“One seventy-five.”

“Fine. Done.” The crone grinned. “Who’s the lucky family?”

“Groen.” 

Hairy eyebrows shot up. “Ho ho. Good family. Yer the lucky one, girl,” she added, swiveling a yellow eye in Marty’s direction. “Their youngest?  _ Oy _ , he’s handsome. And tall!”

“No, Davos,” Ma replied. “The older one.”

“The lazy eye? Oh. Ah, well. Looks ain’t everything. Besides, this one barely talks, so even if he is ugly, he’ll never hear it from her!” Even Ma cracked a smile at that one. Rmaa stared pointedly at her magazine, although she’d stopped flipping pages. At Marty’s face, the crone clapped her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, girl. Marriage is a duty that every woman’s gotta do. The babies are the real joy. And who knows. You Straatvegers live a long time. Maybe you’ll outlive him. Maybe you’ll be the one giving advice to scared young brides someday. Life’s funny, eh?”

Marty was glad Rmaa wasn’t looking at her, so her sister couldn’t see the tears that sprang in her eyes.

========================================================================

“W-w-w-why.” A v-shaped  _ swish _ of her index finger. “W-w-why.” In the dirt, she drew the v-shape she’d signed. “ _ Ja? _ ”

Baya nodded and took another sip of coffee. In the semidarkness, it was hard to read his face, but he seemed to understand. Marty paged open to the manual and penciled in the new hand signal in the margins, with the new definition underneath it. 

“W-w-where.” She opened her palm to face Baya, then rotated her hand to point palm-up at the sky. “W-w-w-w-where.  _ Ja? _ ”

“ _ Ja.”  _ Another inscription in the book.

“H-h-h-how.” She cupped her hands into loose c-shapes and mimicked unscrewing something. He nodded again. A third inscription in the book.

They’d been at this for hours. Baya had wanted to go exploring again, but Marty had insisted. Feeling silly at first, she’d pantomimed  _ study  _ as best she could, holding out the book of military combat signals and a pencil. It was only after stammering painfully through the first few words that he seemed to understand. Maybe he thought her attempts to add her made-up hand signals to his book were pathetic, but she didn’t have any other paper, and this was the only way she knew how to expand their vocabulary. 

Besides, she finally had the chance to test her theory, which had been burning a hole in her chest ever since the scavenging day. Ma had shaken her sack at Marty - _how much_ - and with that one gesture, she’d asked a whole question. Some words and gestures, like _left_ or _right_ , meant what they meant and there was no changing them. But words like _why_ or _how_ were hard to sign, because they had no one meaning. They could mean anything. But if she could just figure out how to sign a meaningless word, then she could bend it to mean anything she wanted. How many more things could you say when you weren’t stuck with words that only meant one thing?

She hadn’t dared to write any of this down and risk Rmaa reading it, but with Baya here now and a fresh pencil in her hand, she couldn’t help it. Scribbling in the book, she quickly filled page after page with notes and diagrams of hand gestures. Baya watched her with curiosity, a small smile on his face. Glancing up, she caught a reflection of herself in the tin of his cup. Long stringy black hair twisted into a messy braid, hood thrown back, yellow slitted eyes wide with excitement, deep green skin smudged with charcoal from the pencil. She’d never be beautiful like her sister, but at this moment, Marty was suddenly taken aback. She didn’t look pretty exactly, but she didn’t  _ not  _ look pretty. She looked…

A deep yawn interrupted her thoughts. Baya pointed to the pallet in the corner and gestured.  _ Take a nap. _

_ Explore?  _ Marty replied, mimicking two fingers walking down the tunnel. Baya shook his head.

_ Not tonight.  _ He tapped the side of his head.  _ Headache. Too much learning. And you. Tired.  _ Marty nodded, defeated. Maybe he was right. Maybe she was trying to push this too fast. But communicating with him, finally, was so exciting….

A gentle nudge toward the pallet.  _ Sleep. Nap. We go back soon.  _ He held up a finger.  _ One hour.  _ Without much prodding, he maneuvered Marty into the pallet and covered her with the ratty blanket.  _ I go alone. Back soon.  _ At her alarmed look, he shook his head.  _ No worry.  _ He patted her shoulder.  _ No worry.  _

_ No worry _ , she signed back sleepily. Her eyelids did feel heavy all of a sudden. She’d been getting less and less sleep as the weeks ticked by. During the day, it was all wedding preparation, and the nervous anxiety that constantly clenched her chest made it hard to concentrate on anything for long. And then the nights were full of exploration, eating, learning, and reading. When she did dream, it was of long sewer tunnels and dank passageways. After the wedding, there’d be no more exploring - but no, she couldn’t bear to think about that. 

_ I looked happy. _

That was the last thought she had before her eyelids slid shut.

========================================================================

_ The thunder of the god’s footsteps echoed close in her ear, too close. Breath hissed through her lungs, her heart pumping with adrenaline. She splashed through a puddle, ducked under a craggy overhang, and faked left. The snap of jaws on empty air sent another jolt of fear through her.  _

_ “Slow fat rat.” The mumble echoed deep in her chest. “I grow tired of this game.” _

_ “Then stop,” Marty panted. Another tunnel emerged in the darkness, complete with a rickety set of steps. Her feet pounded on the grating as she took them two at a time. The metal creaked with the sudden weight. Her legs and back ached. _

_ “Why do you carry that pack with you?” _

_ “What pack?” _

_ “The one on your back, full of AboveGround things. I can smell it from here.” Marty barely had time to contemplate this question before the bulk of Sobek slammed into the staircase. Her hands gripped the railing for dear life. Desperately, she propelled her legs forward.  _

_ “I don’t have a pack on.” _

_ “You cling to Above because you have not yet given yourself to Below. You cannot lie to a god, little rat.” _

_ The staircase was broken, ending as cleanly as if someone had sawed it off. Marty screeched to a halt inches from the edge. Before her was nothing but black. Behind her…. _

_ She turned to behold the white bulk bearing down on her. The red eyes gleamed.  _

_ “Don’t.” _

_ “Why shouldn’t I?” Breath stinking of carnage wafted past her. “Intruder. Parasite.” _

_ “No.” _

_ “What, then?” _

_ Marty hesitated. The jaws were dripping, open slightly, ready to snap her in half. “Newcomer.” _

_ The sound of dripping water filled the silence, echoes of a faraway broken pipe.  _

_ “Prove it.” _

_ Marty blinked. “How?” _

_ “Take off your pack.” _

_ “I don’t have a pack on.” _

_ “Its stench clings to you. Take it off. TAKE IT OFF.” The staircase rumbled with the force of the god’s words.  _

_ Perplexed, Marty reached for her shoulders. A thick leather strap met her fingertips. Had that always been there? _

_ As if waiting for her recognition, the crippling weight brought her to her knees. Gasping, she undid the straps, sighing with relief as the crushing pounds clattered to the floor. The pack was full nearly to bursting, the top cinched tight. A pop of white tulle poked out. Her anxiety mounting, Marty unlaced the top. There, sitting neatly folded, was the wedding dress.  _

_ “Give it to me.” _

_ Wordlessly, Marty seized the precious garment with both hands and pulled. Draped over both arms, she laid it on the ground between her and the alligator. Daring to meet its eyes, she was surprised to see the slitted irises focused on the dress rather than her. The look in its eye reminded Marty of the time her mother found a poisonous snake under the kitchen table. Gently, the jaws descended, picking up the dress as softly as a kitten. She watched in fascination as the white tulle disappeared down the god’s throat.  _

_ “Mmmm.” Its rumble wasn’t pleased, but it wasn’t exactly displeased, either. “Your offering is...acceptable.” _

_ “My offering…?” _

_ “Go. Before I change my mind.” _

_ Perplexed, Marty spread her hands. “Go where?” _

_ “GO!” Like a hammer, the snap from Sobek’s tail crashed into Marty’s ribcage, flinging her off the ledge. The black enveloped her like mud, filling her ears and eyes and mouth, sliding cold fingers of darkness into her throat, closing off her air so quickly she couldn’t even get a breath in to scream. _

Gasping, she bolted upright. Sweat poured off her skin and the blanket lay twisted and soaked around her body. The red eyes seared her vision, filling it completely. Something had her, clutching with a death-grip--

Flailing, she tried frantically to push the figure off her and landed with a yelp on the floor. “Sobek?!” 

A hand materialized in the dim light and she grabbed it. Her grandfather hauled her to her feet, the lines of suspicion and concern creasing his face. A fresh glow stick hung from the carabiner at his belt, casting the room in an orange ambiance. He tried to speak, but the demons had covered his mouth again, causing him to choke around the hard letters. His fingers cast rapid shadows on the wall as he signed out the word, fear punctuating each letter.  _ G-A-T-O-R _ .

A new trickle of anxiety crept down her spine. Quickly, she signed back.  _ Sleeping. All clear. _

The frown deepened.  _ No. How long?  _ Marty hesitated and he repeated it, more aggressively this time.  _ How long? _

_ Weeks. Not sure. Sleeping. He… _ she paused, unsure how to convey what she meant. They’d never come up with a word for “dream”.  _ He... talks to me. S-O-B-E-- _

Her grandfather slapped her hand down.  _ No!  _ Suddenly distraught, he stepped towards her and grabbed her ear. Marty let out a squeak of protest, but it was ignored as he grabbed his bag sitting at the mouth of the pipe. Baya shoved her towards the exit, but Marty wrenched free. Her ear throbbed and she rubbed the spot where he had pinched it. Her grandfather’s face was a mask of anger. Rapidly he whipped his hands through the air, so quickly Marty could barely decipher it.  _ Bad bad you in danger monster he eats you there move out enemies all around bad child BAD BAD-- _

Marty dodged and he stopped signing to grab at her arm again. He got a fistful of hair instead. She let out a shriek of pain, the high notes piercing in such a confined space. Her small fists flailing, she managed to catch her grandfather on the jaw. With a grunt, he released his grip and she pushed him backwards. As Baya stumbled, his foot caught on the mattress and he  _ thumped  _ on the bed. Before he could rise, Marty scrambled to the picture of Baya and Daan on the wall. Ripping it off the tack, she held the frame over her head in two hands --

_ Stop! _

_ I do it!  _ She signed viciously.  _ If you come close, I do it.  _ She punctuated this threat with a snarl. Baya’s face was a storm of emotions, but he held two hands in the air in surrender. He made to move slowly off the bed.  _ No! _ She replied, and he crept back onto the bed. 

Tears sprang up in Marty’s eyes, blurring Baya’s form.  _ Why you do this?  _ Her ear and scalp throbbed.  _ Hurts! _

_ G-A-T-O-R dangerous. You not safe.  _

_ Why? _

_ Hungry.  _

_ How know? _

_ Not important. _

_ HOW?  _ She spat on the ground for emphasis.

In response, Baya slowly rose from the bed. Cautiously, with both hands raised, he moved towards her, his face suddenly devoid of all anger. In its place was a sadness so deep, Marty found herself lowering her arms slowly. Taking the picture out of her hands, he tapped at one the smiling teen goblins in the picture.

_ Always hungry.  _ He repeated it, flinching as his fingers formed the letters.  _ Always hungry.  _

With a creeping horror, Marty began to put the pieces together.  _ How?  _ But Baya shook his head violently. Suddenly desperate for answers, Marty tried a different tack.  _ You safe, all this time? Why? _

_ I hide.  _

A flare of frustration simmered in Marty’s chest. There was still so much she didn’t even know how to ask! Her curiosity was a torrent, but Baya seemed disinclined to answer any more questions. He shifted uncomfortably.  _ Almost day. We should go. _

_ We come back?  _ She signed sharply. Marty waited for a response, heart heavy. The thought of forever staying above ground, stuck with her family, hung on her neck like a millstone. Baya shrugged again, and she signed  _ I follow you. We safe. All this time. We safe together. _

After an eternity, he nodded slowly, to her immense relief. Gently, she placed the photo back on the tack. Baya reached over and adjusted the picture to hang straight, a deep frown on his face. The grief was etched into his skin. He’d come back changed from the war, the horrors of battle twisting his tongue so that words were beyond him now. Or was it the horrors of battle? That’s what she’d been told, listening to the hushed gossip of Ma talking with the other wives. It occurred to her now that something else may have stolen his voice. Something more terrifying than the war. But then why come back down here? Why brave the horrors of the sewer instead of staying aboveground where it was safe?

In reply, something deep in her gut purred and rolled over.

_ The Same Reason You Do. _

========================================================================


	3. Of Rats and Reptiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day she's been dreading is upon her. The sugar-sweet voice presents Marty with a path to freedom, but the cost is great. Meanwhile Baya watches as his granddaughter slips further from his reach. Deep in the sewers there are many types of monsters, but often the most deadly is Hope.

========================================================================

After that, she was careful not to mention her dreams of the alligator god again. Baya was more cautious with each trip, often doubling back and taking circuitous routes until Marty was hopelessly lost. Often she would catch Baya eyeing her when he thought she wasn’t looking, inspecting her for….what exactly? It was hard to say. They still foraged together, looking for spider eggs or bioluminescent slugs or harvesting the mushrooms that grew along the sides of the pipes. They still worked on their vocabulary and invented new signs for words whenever they needed to. In fact, after only a few short weeks, Marty’s wispy handwriting had filled every margin of every page of the training manual, and she’d resorted to tracing new symbols on the wall in bioluminescent goo with a finger. But the budding camaraderie that their first trips had been marked with was gone. 

As the days ticked by and her wedding drew nearer, the ball of anxiety settled into a dead weight in her stomach. Eating became harder, and sleep eluded her. On the nights when they didn’t go down into the sewers, she lay awake with her headphones on, listening to music and the sounds of her family snoring around her. When she did manage to drift off, her dreams were full of scales and darkness and whispers. Sometimes it would take hours for the harsh light of day to chase away the slithering of her own dark thoughts.

The tension in her family, always simmering, added to the weight on her back. The sullen blanket-like heat that sat on the water didn’t help matters either. Days went by without so much as a breeze to scatter the carpet of flies that settled on everything. Garbage cooked in the hot sun, forcing even the most seasoned of pickers to wear a gas mask when going out into the shallows to forage. Rmaa sweated and sewed constantly, working to pay off the debt that Ma and Pa had taken out for Marty’s wedding dress. Many times she’d only stop long enough for a drink of water before getting back to work, perspiration making her beautiful long hair matty and damp. 

Bores and Rutje began to fight. It would start at first with a shove here and there, but quickly it would escalate into full-on blows. The third time it happened, Pa and Finez had to dive in and separate them as Bores pounded Rutje into the floorboards. Rutje, broken and bloody, had scampered off into the night to nurse himself into drunkenness, while Bores took the skiff and puttered away to who-knew-where, leaving Ma and Marty to pick up the broken dishes and sweep up the scattered remains of their supper. The two of them scrubbed the blood out as best as they could. When her brothers came back the next day, everyone pretended nothing had happened, but there was no ignoring the stain in the center of the kitchen. 

Yan and Guli also grew more unruly as the days rolled on, but unlike their older brothers, the heat united them instead of dividing. They continued to take their boredom out on those around them as they always had, but now their playtimes took a more sadistic turn, often aimed at their own family. On one occasion, Ma found them stealing her sewing needles to make darts for their blowguns. Only the weighted threat of interrupting Rmaa and Marty's sewing made the pair back down. She warned them of how empty the table would be if their sisters couldn't finish their work, and turned them outside to antagonize someone else. Marty wondered idly as she sewed if Ma hoped they wouldn't return.

She ventured the question to Baya one night during one of their trips.  _ Of course,  _ he replied.  _ Bad apples, both of them.  _

The casualness with which he answered the question caused Marty to reel back in shock.  _ Really? _

_ Some children are born bad. You can tell from the first time they open their eyes.  _ Baya signed fluidly, one hand still pouring grounds into the coffee pot at his feet. 

After weeks of practice, they’d progressed from halting words to full sentences - a fact that still filled Marty with pride whenever she thought about it.  _ Your oldest brothers are stupid, and stupid makes them violent. But the twins - they’re like that because they enjoy it. You always have to watch out for those ones. They’ll eat you in your sleep.  _ Baya calmly poured two coffees and passed one to Marty. 

_ It’s Pa and Ma’s fault,  _ she signed bitterly.  _ Pa’s never home and Ma… _ she stopped short. Ma was Baya’s daughter. 

_ It’s the S-T-R-A-A-T-V-E-G-E-R blood.  _ Baya spelled out the letters between sips of coffee, meeting her eyes as he did so.  _ It turned all those boys sour. Your Ma did the best she could with you and your sister. But she gave up on her sons.  _

Marty rolled the warm swallow of coffee around in her mouth, digesting this news silently. Uncle Arban - Baya’s son and Ma’s brother - loathed Pa. But she’d never suspected Baya felt the same way. Did all Bat-Erdaa’s hate that Ma had married Pa? 

Without meaning to, she glanced down at her reflection in the coffee cup. The bulging yellow eyes, narrow cheekbones, and stunted posture - all that was a mirror image of Pa. Only her hair, tangled and black as midnight, was Ma’s. Did...did Baya see Frits Straatveger whenever he looked at his grandchildren? At her? 

A hand waved in front of her face, calling her attention back to the conversation.  _ M-A-R-T-Y?  _ He must have read the hurt on her face, because instantly Baya was signing rapidly again.  _ No no girl. Not you. You’re not them.  _

_ Do you ever wish things were different? That you were different? Or, born somewhere else? Or...ended up with someone else?  _ She glanced at the photo of Daan as she signed this. If he hadn’t married Bana, then Ma wouldn’t have married Pa, and then...

Baya sighed.  _ Sometimes. Do I wish he was still here? Of course. Every day I open my eyes. But he’s not. He’s gone. No sense in wishing for what you can’t have. _

_ What happened to him?  _ The Marty of three months ago would never have been so bold. But something had changed in her, something that purred in the back of her head as she formed the words with her fingers.

For a second, she thought Baya would get angry, or shut down. The way he studied her for a long moment made her feel like a bug under a magnifying glass. After a long sigh he got up, walked over to the picture, and took it off the wall. One hand stroked the face in the photo while the other hand told the story.

_ We were young and stupid. Just boys. Couldn’t shoot, couldn’t even shave. They gave us a book. I couldn’t read it. They said I was-- _ Marty cocked her head as Baya signed an unfamiliar word, but he kept on before she could ask him _. I got angry, got in trouble, and had to run around the camp.  _ Baya looped his hands and flashed a number, but she didn’t catch it.  _ Ran every day, my feet bled. He tried to teach me to read. Too dumb to learn. The words swam on the page. But I passed, barely. _

_ The city was starving. They had to get food in, past the blockade. That’s why they rounded us up. The sewer tunnels were too small for most humans. The work was dirty. No honor in it. The honor they left for the others.  _

Marty was transfixed, the coffee cold at her feet. Baya’s look was faraway, but he continued signing. With every minute, he seemed to gain momentum. How long had it been since he’d talked about this? Had he ever told this to anyone?

_ The night before we shipped out, he told me he loved me. I couldn’t say it back. Too damn proud and scared and stubborn. And boys who loved boys were shot, in those days. But he still...stayed with me that night. I’d never done...that before, with another boy. When we were done, he said he’d never done it before either.  _ Baya cleared his throat, seeming to remember suddenly who he was talking to. Marty’s cheeks burned, but didn’t dare interrupt.  _ He told me he hated living in the slums, and that when this was all over, he was leaving D-A-R-P-A-N-A. And that I should come. And I said I would. _

_ There were eight of us. Two died on the first day. The next, two more. The sewers were different then. Wilder. Y-U-A-N-T-I lived closer to the sun, not forced down deep like today. _

_ He was sure he knew a way through. He mapped it out for me. It was too dangerous. Exposed. I told him we shouldn’t go. I outranked him, gave him an order. He disobeyed it. He...never came back.  _

Tremors laced through Baya’s hand, but he continued.  _ I followed the route. Retraced his steps. Didn’t care who saw me.There was...a Y-U-A-N-T-I soldier. I made him tell me who took the goblin boy, the one with red hair. He just said, “the god.” And laughed as I killed him.  _

_ He was right. It did lead to the sea. I got a medal for that. It should have been his. The snakes were cleared out. They ran deep.  _ Baya spat.  __

_ My Pa had picked out a bride for me. I was married the day I got back. No asking me. I made the best of it. Your Bana wasn’t so bad. We never loved each other, but we were friends. She was smart. Had a temper. She could read. Tried to teach your Ma, but it didn’t take. Took up with that boy, didn’t listen when I said that whole family was violent and stupid. She was already pregnant. After that, nothing I could do. _

Baya seemed to come out of his trance. Glancing at Marty, he gave her a tired smile. His face seemed ten years older.  _ Never told anybody that.  _

Head spinning, she asked the first of a thousand questions.  _ Do you think the god really ate him? _

_ Never put much stock in gods,  _ he signed back.  _ But the dark changes your mind. Saw things I can’t explain. I fight it. But it leaks into your head. _

_ So why keep coming back?  _

She knew the answer before he signed it.  _ Because it’s still better than up there. _

========================================================================

“Marty!” Ma’s sharp tone cut through the fog of unconsciousness like a knife. “Wake up, girl.” 

Marty’s eyes snapped open and she bolted upright in bed. The sun streamed through the window onto the blanket. Ma took a surprised step back. 

“Today’s the big day. You feeling sick?” Without waiting for an answer, Ma added, “Your Pa and your brothers are already down at the Groen’s house, setting up. From the sun I’d say we got about two hours before we need to head down. I ironed your dress--” 

The rest of Ma’s words fell away as Marty’s gaze slid over to the white tulle hanging on the wall. It sat primly on the hook. Dread settled in Marty’s stomach like a cold stone, panic fluttering in her chest. She’d watched the hateful thing shred to pieces between a god’s jaws, and yet like a curse it was here waiting for her to put it on. For once she wished the nightmare had been a reality instead of what was before her. Today she’d walk down the aisle, become his bride, feel his fingers on her skin after all the guests left and it was only the two of them…

Ma jumped back with a yelp as the contents of Marty’s stomach decorated the floor at her feet. “By the Borrower…!” Ma’s shriek echoed. “Rmaa!” 

Pattering footsteps joined them. Rmaa clicked her tongue in disgust. “Gross!”

“It’s just nerves. It’s all right, girl.” Ma patted Marty on the back as she continued to retch. “Rmaa, help your sister clean herself up and get her dress on. I’ll make us some mint water to help her settle her stomach. Marty, when you’re washed up, we’ll start working on your hair.  _ Ja _ ?” Marty nodded miserably. 

Rmaa waited until Ma had left the room before leaning down to hiss at Marty. “I’m not cleanin’ up your sick on your own wedding day.”

Feeling a thousand years old, Marty slid weakly out of bed, her feet dropping to the sticky floor. Taking the rag from her sister’s outstretched hand, she wiped off her mouth with it before bending down to the puddle of bile and boiled fungus. Silently, Rmaa stood before her, arms crossed, as Marty mopped the mess up. The rag went into the bottom of the dirty laundry pile - that chore would fall to Rmaa now too, now that Marty was gone. Under the circumstances, it seemed best not to mention it. 

Shaking, Marty slid out of her shift and folded it neatly. The beautiful wooden chest stood in the corner, taking up most of the free real estate in the bedroom. Opening it, Marty placed the shift inside. The chest was mostly empty still - it would stand open at the reception and get filled through the day as guests arrived and placed their gifts inside. She turned around to see Rmaa reverently taking the white tulle dress off the hook. Marty watched as her sister’s calloused fingers grazed the delicate cloth, catching and snagging on the fabric, and something suddenly clicked into place. 

Rmaa turned around, holding the dress by the skirt. Marty obediently lifted her hands up and the hated fabric slid over her head, temporarily blocking her vision before Rmaa tugged it down over her shoulders. It had been taken in expertly, and fit her like a glove. The skirt hung attractively from her bony hips, and the way the bust had been cut actually gave her somewhat of a figure. The naked jealousy on her sister’s face was impossible to ignore any longer. Rmaa twirled one finger, and Marty turned around so the younger girl could begin lacing her up. The storm of emotions danced in Marty’s chest. She had to say something. It might be her last time with Rmaa alone.

“I’m s-s-sorry.”

“Don’t start,” was the curt reply. “Too late for that now.”

“B-b-but I am.”

“I don’t care.” Marty gasped as the stays were yanked tight. “It should be me today, y’know. I see the way you look at that dress, like it’s gonna sprout fangs. Like you’re too good for it. You don’t even  _ want  _ it.” Rmaa’s voice shook with anger. “Do y’know what I’d give to switch places with you? To go into the city on outings with Pa and Uncle Arban? To have Ma talk to me about somethin’ other than chores? To have Baya pay attention to me?” Another gasp as the stays were cinched. “I know you sneak off with Baya at night sometimes. You never bothered to take me with you. Never brought nothin’ back for me. Never even thought to  _ ask. _ ”

“I--”

“Shut up.” Marty could hardly breathe as Rmaa began on the endless row of tiny buttons lacing up the back. Her sister’s voice was low and controlled, but the fury in it could have melted steel. “I gotta wait another three years before I can get married. Another three years of bein’ ignored by Ma, and Pa, and Baya. Another three years of watching those little demons until I could tip them into the river myself. D’you one of them tried to bite my finger off yesterday? My  _ finger _ , like it was nothin’ but a piece of meat and not attached to their sister. They’re out of control and Ma won’t do anything, she’s afraid of ‘em, and they’re too young still to go out with Pa and the boys. And Baya won’t watch ‘em, he’s too old and besides, that’s  _ girl’s  _ work. But not work for you. Oho, no. Just me.”

“Rmaa--”

“I said,  _ shut up. _ Gods, can’t get you to talk any other day of the year, and now suddenly you’re all chatty. Well, too little, too late. I hope Davos Groen is awful to you and that he beats you and that you get big with his child and that it’s twins. Or triplets. Or that the labor kills you. Or that you choke on the apple cake at the reception. I don’t care.” Her voice started to crack. “Y’know what I would’ve given to be in that dress today? I’d give everything I had to get out of here. Even if it’s to marry that lazy-eyed moron. And you, sittin’ there like it’s somethin’ you gotta…. _ get through.  _ It’s not fair.” The last button was finished. “I hate you. I’ll be back in a minute to do your hair.” Rmaa’s skirts swished as she left the room. 

The tears dripped down Marty’s cheeks and she chanced a small gasp through the impossibly tight dress stays. The glare from the window seemed so bright, the starch of the fabric clouding her nostrils with its stink. Against her will, images flashed before her eyes. Her new husband, screaming at her with hate in his eyes as she cowered in a corner. Taking the skiff and disappearing for hours like her brothers, returning home dead drunk and smelling like perfume. Laying in a strange bed, feeling his hot breath on her neck as he inched closer and pawed at her. The cries of childbirth racking her body as it forced his baby out into the world. She’d seen women die, heard their screams echo in the alley for days before turning into whimpers of agony. Pain and misery, disguised with the sweetness of apple cake.

_ She was right about one thing. I would leave it all if I could. _

The response floated unbidden to the surface, clear as crystal.  _ So do it.  _

_ Pa will kill me. _

_ Not if he can’t find you.  _ The words ended in a snarl.

The thrill of fear sang in her veins. Rmaa and Ma were arguing in the kitchen, their words indistinct. She might only have a few moments. Marty eased over to the oil-paper window. Gently, she ripped along the tack-line until the paper fluttered in the breeze, hanging on by a single corner. It was just barely big enough for her to squeeze through. Hoisting herself up on the windowsill, she took a last glance at the bare room, at the beautiful wooden chest standing in the corner. 

Her slippered feet gently rested on the rooftop of the front porch and she crept quiet as a mouse to the edge. Rmaa and Ma’s voices were louder now. There was a sharpness to her sister’s tone, cut off by the sound of a slap. Marty winced. Her sister’s voice again, this time tearful and punctuated by Ma’s stern reply. Swinging her feet down over the ledge, Marty eased herself silently down to the ground. The open door to the kitchen was right there. If either one of them walked outside, they’d see her and instantly know…

Ma’s voice was a whip. “If I hear your backtalk again, I’ll beat you so hard you won’t sit right for a week. It’s your place to do what you’re told, not complain.”

Marty silently eased her feet into her boots, not bothering to lace them up. The tulle puffed ridiculously over the tops.

“I’m tired of this, Ma. I wanna dance and eat apple cake today, not watch the twins. Why can’t someone else do it? Just this once.”

“Cause that’s your job. You’re the youngest girl and it’s your sister’s wedding.”

The black rubber poncho draped over the white dress, smothering the ridiculous fabric and coating Marty in a comforting heaviness.

“She’s ungrateful.”

“Yes, well, she’ll be out of our hair soon enough. Just be glad  _ someone  _ said yes to her.”

Marty froze, gas mask halfway to her face. 

“I hate her.”

“I know, girl. But that’s how it is.” Ma’s voice had lost the angry tone and now it was just bitter. “You think this is how I imagined it? My oldest daughter, off to marry without so much as a thank you. Of all my children, you’re the only one that even talks to me. And what do you do? You use your words to complain and moan. Makes me wish some days you’d been struck dumb like your sister.” A sigh. “Just….get through today, girl. And tomorrow, we’ll all start to move on.  _ Ja _ ?” The last word was laced with a strange tenderness Marty had never heard before. 

The tears were acid as they slid down her cheeks, burning away any lingering doubts. Sliding the gas mask firmly over her face, she cinched the straps tight over her chin and crept to the ledge. The ladder creaked with her weight, but she hoped that the sound would be lost in the rush of the river. 

“Ma, she’s gone!” The shout met her ears just as her feet touched the river mud. The panic surged back and Marty broke into a sprint down the alley, hoping beyond hope they didn’t notice her before she turned the corner.

“MAARRRRTYYYY!” Ma’s roar echoed out the open window over the street, propelling her forward. Boots thumping in the dirt, she blew past startled pedestrians and dodged down an alley. Her heart hammered in her chest. With the gas mask and poncho on, she’d bought herself a few moments’ disguise, but there was no hiding the white dress underneath. Making a split-second decision, she dashed around another corner, dodged a cart, leapt over a dumpster, slid down a muddy trench, and splashed through a putrid puddle. The main sewer line was a few blocks ahead, the enormous broken pipe she’d followed Baya into the very first night. If she could get to the sewers, she could lose herself in the tunnels. 

_ And then what? _

“MAAAARTYYYY!” Ma’s voice roared, not thirty yards behind her. Leaping over a stream, she scattered an astonished pack of rats. Faster than she thought possible, she slid down another trench and skirted a burning pile of trash. The sewer entrance beckoned her. Gratefully she approached the broken piece of pipe, tugging the tulle free with a  _ rip  _ as it snagged on a jagged edge. It left a ten-inch piece of white fabric dangling, but Marty didn’t stop to go back for it. 

Her boots thundered through the murky water, willing herself to disappear into the darkness. The silence of the sewer draped over her like a blanket, but she didn’t stop running.  _ Follow the water _ , a voice in her head hissed, and she detoured up a staircase, around a bend, squeezed through a passageway, down another tunnel, and slid down a rusty metal pole.  _ Don’t stop, close behind, don’t stop.  _

After what felt like an eternity, her legs screaming in protest, she crawled to a halt. She’d gone through an unfamiliar tunnel on her hands and knees, following the muck upstream until it dead-ended behind a stone wall. How far had she gone? What time was it? 

For the first time, she took stock of her surroundings. Nothing looked familiar. The sewers were hushed around her, as if waiting for her to decide what to do next. The only light came from faint bioluminescent algae clinging to the surface of the rock, and the only sound was the trickling of sewage as it coursed down the pipe from which she’d just emerged. Marty was certain that she’d never been here before with Baya. There was no food or water. The once-white dress was ripped and torn, beyond repair.

Before she could take it back, a bubble of relieved laughter burst from Marty’s lips. It was followed by another. Clapping her hand over her mouth seemed to do nothing. Her sides heaving, Marty laughed until the tears came, and then sobbed until her eyes were empty and swollen. Then she curled up with her back to the rock and slept. 

========================================================================

_ The little rat awakens. Time has passed. She does not know how much time. It does not matter. _

_ Hunger burns in her belly. Her tongue is dry in her mouth.  _

_ A cockroach skitters by and she seizes on it. Sharp teeth pierce the tough carapace easily and she gulps it down, shuddering at the taste.  _

_ She begins to wander in search of water. Her ears are sensitive for a sun-dweller and she follows the faint trickle. There are miles and miles of tunnels. And she is so very small.  _

_ The domain of Sobek waits. Not in fear, but the way wolves wait for the leader to take the first bite. The little rat does not sense this. Her only thought is survival, and her grandfather. She sheds water for him. The domain of Sobek watches it bubble from her eyes and whispers to itself in astonishment. Do all sun-dwellers waste like this? _

_ Sobek purrs in the back of her mind. She resists quite well, for a rat. Never mind. Sobek has time. All the time in the world. _

======================================================================

_ The rat has found water. A broken pipe sprouts a leak and she clamps her mouth over it, sucking the droplets from it hungrily. The dirt under her feet is churned to mud - this is a popular spot. But she does not know this.  _

_ Crushed glowbugs paint her mouth in a neon smear. The rat sleeps. She does not wonder at the stillness of the sewers around her. The stillness of a great beast holding its breath.  _

_ The domain of Sobek chitters to itself. Surely the god would not mind if they had just a taste, a small taste of this fat lost sun-dweller that wastes fresh water and stumbles blindly in the dark. Surely just a few drops of blood would not be missed…perhaps a finger or two... _

_ Sobek thunders!  _ MINE,  _ he hisses. The domain of Sobek falls silent in fear. Everyone remembers Goa Goa, or more accurately, what happened to him.  _

_ Sobek says it again, softer this time but more dangerously.  _ MINE.  _ The rat stops, looks over her shoulder at the darkness behind her. She peers into it, listening again. After a moment, she ventures on.  _

_ The domain of Sobek murmurs apologies. They will watch and wait for the scraps from their master’s table. Sobek is a merciful god. He will not leave them starving.  _

=======================================================================

_ The rat has started to forget. The darkness presses on her, forcing her mind open and bare. Higher thought has begun to retreat upon itself in favor of the needs of survival. Eat. Drink. Sleep. Wander. She has begun to suspect the quiet, but her suspicions are those of a rat, not a girl. She senses the beckoning of Sobek in her mind, hypnotically drawing her close to the epicenter of his domain. A little closer each day. She follows him through the blind pull of instinct. _

========================================================================

_ During one of the awake times, she manages to kill a creature. She does not know its name, but it comes after her with long claws and sharp teeth, its single eye boring into her soul and filling her body with a primal terror. She grabs a rock and bashes its head in. Its eye is a mass of quivering jelly, coating her poncho with slime.  _

_ Afterwards she cracks the bone for marrow. She eats the flesh raw and ties the claws to her own hands to make weapons. She strips the greasy hide from its body and stuffs strips of it into her boots to keep her feet warm. That night she sleeps with a full belly. That night, her mental armor cracks. Not completely, but enough.  _

_ Deep in her chest, the rat purrs. _

========================================================================

He’d seen the tracks a couple days back, boot prints next to the corpse of a baby Nothic. She’d stripped the carcass bare. He was close. If he was lucky, he would find her. If he was very lucky, she wouldn’t be too far gone.

_ And then what, Wout?  _ Daan’s imaginary voice had deepened and slowed as the years had gone by. He still talked with the same teasing chiding tone though. Some things never changed. 

_ I’ll bring her home. _

_ And if she won’t go? If she can’t go? If the alligator god has taken her?  _ Wout had no answer for that. He glanced sharply at Daan, whose spectral body floated beside him. The shock of red hair had turned long and gray in his imagination, and he sported wrinkles and scars that the real Daan hadn’t lived old enough to earn. 

_ I won’t let her end up the same way you did. I don’t care what I have to do. _

_ I know you won’t.  _ Daan’s smile was tinged with sadness.

=======================================================================

He slept lightly, his rucksack beside him and his knife tucked in his fist. He didn’t dare make a fire - not in this territory. This part of the sewer was normally crawling with things big enough to eat him whole. The quiet unnerved him, and made him afraid for her. He moved as fast as he dared through the winding tunnels and sheer cliff trails.Time was running out. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he could feel it in his bones. The pull of the alligator god was strong. It throbbed in his thoughts, but he’d learned with the pain of long practice to build his walls high and thick, the door sealed tight with the trauma of Daan’s death. No matter how hard he tried, Sobek would never hammer through. Ever.

He was getting closer. A scrap of white, slashed and bloody. A boot print, not quite dried out. Bones from another carcass. A hollow where she’d recently slept. He pushed through the exhaustion and forced his screaming joints to haul him panting up another hill, through another narrow crevice. His sharpened stick speared cockroaches and glowworms and he ate as he walked. He drank stale water from the canteen at his side - nearly empty after days of walking. He’d have to find a way to refill it, or there wouldn’t be enough for the return journey.

_ If there is a return journey.  _ He pushed the thought aside. 

That night as he slept, he dreamed of Marty. The first Straatveger girl, and his Maartje was so excited after three boys that she’d immediately named the girl after herself. Frits, imbecile that he was, took one look at her tiny body and sniffed, bored. But Maartje had been too enraptured to care. She’d placed her daughter into Wout’s arms, and as the infant had looked up at her grandfather, he’d sworn she’d smiled at him before falling asleep. 

When he woke, he found tears on his cheeks. 

Attacking the trail with renewed energy, he jabbed his walking stick into the ground hard with each step. Daan kept pace with him easily.

_ You remember our first time down here, Wout? _

_ Yes. It terrified you. _

_ It terrified  _ _ you _ _. I was fine.  _

_ That’s not how I remember it.  _

_ That’s because you’re an old man and your memory is going. What did you have for breakfast this morning? _

_ Cockroach. And besides, you don’t know if it was breakfast. It could be pitch black up up there. _

_ That’s the first thing that always goes - the sense of time.  _ Daan tapped a wrist.  _ The second is the routine. When there’s no time, it doesn’t matter when you eat or sleep. _

_ Sewer sickness.  _ Wout nodded.  _ I remember they told us that in basic. _

_ “Use your watches to keep to a schedule.”  _ Daan mimicked.  _ ‘Cept the watches were solar charged. We had a good laugh about that didn’t we? _

The reply died on his lips as he crested the hill. The tunnel opened abruptly into a massive cavern, algae thick on the walls. The eerie glow cast light on the silent stalactites and stalagmites. Through the cavern, the sound of a stream echoed. And there, at the thin ribbon of water below, was a tiny figure in a black poncho, swiping a clawed hand at a roiling pool of water spiders….

“Marty.” The word left his lips before he could stop it. Up above, it would have been a whisper, but here in the emptiness of the cavern it sounded like a gunshot. The figure stiffened as if struck, glancing at him with yellow animal eyes. Thin lips parted to reveal bloodstained sharp teeth. It hissed before bounding away on all fours into the shadows.

_ Get her!  _ Daan shouted, but he didn’t need to be told twice. He surged after her, his boots pounding on the trail after his granddaughter. The black figure crawled swiftly away from him, throwing venomous looks over her shoulder and hissing as she did so. Fear and dread spiked along with the adrenaline. Was he too late? Was she too far gone to even recognize him anymore?

He skidded to a stop at the empty passageway. He’d left the cavern and entered a tunnel, but she wasn’t there. Had he made a wrong turn, or…?

A thunderous blow from behind threw him forward and he barely got a  _ hmph  _ out before face-planting in the dirt, his knee blossoming in pain. And then it was a tangle of arms and limbs and claws as a ferocious black shadow fought for the soft meat of his throat. Her breath stank on his cheek as her teeth snapped onto thin air, missing him by an inch. 

He swung upwards with a fist, one, two, three times. The third time connected hard and she crumpled over, stunned. Swiftly, he reached into his rucksack and fished out the zip ties and gag. He only had seconds.

A roar echoed in the cavern outside, causing him to glance behind sharply.  _ I guess Sobek didn’t like that. _

_ He can deal with it,  _ Wout grunted in reply, fastening the ties tight around his granddaughter’s wrists and ankles. She groaned in pain as he forced the gag around her lips. 

Another roar echoed in the cavern, followed by a scurrying sound.  _ Wout…. _ Daan warned.  _ Something out there sounds big and angry! _

_ I know!  _ He snapped, hoisting the struggling Marty over his shoulders. He reeled with the extra weight, leaning on his walking stick for support. His knee throbbed in pain - there was no running on that, even if he hadn’t had to carry his granddaughter. 

_ We need to get somewhere safe.  _ With the impossible speed of the dead, Daan beckoned further down the tunnel.  _ Hurry! There’s no going back the way you came. _

With all his strength, he began to walk forward. His feral granddaughter bucked and screamed, but the ties and gag held fast. Behind him, the scurrying sound grew louder. It didn’t sound like just one creature, but a whole horde of them. The entirety of Sobek’s domain, out to destroy him. 

_ Aw, hell _ . He broke into a staggering jog. His knee howled agony with each step. 

_ In here!  _ Daan beckoned the solid wall of a dead end. No, not quite a dead end - there was a tiny crevice in the bottom of it. Not big enough for an alligator god to squeeze into. But a goblin? Maybe. If he was quick. 

Wout glanced at his granddaughter, who met him with wild yellow eyes. Saliva streamed from her mouth around the gag. “Sorrylove.” He set her down with a thump, and before she could scramble away, he wound up a punch. She took the full force of the blow and fell over like a stack of bricks. His guilty conscience pricked at him, but he was short on time and he needed her to not fight him - not if he was going to save her. 

_ Come on!  _ Daan’s voice was insistent. Throwing his rucksack to the ground, he bent and shoved it ahead of him into the crevice--

_ BANG!  _ He glanced wildly at the entrance to the tunnel. Pinpoints of light dotted the darkness. A deep cacophony of growls filled his ears, echoing off the walls. The shadows grew thicker, closing in with every step. Fear sang in his veins--

Dropping to his stomach, he rolled into the crevice, scooting in feet first. Grabbing the unconscious form of his granddaughter by her zip-tied hands, he began to haul her dead weight inside-- 

A flash of white scaled muscle. It was big, bigger than he remembered. The god’s bulk filled the tunnel. Deep crimson eyes bored down on him. A yawning mouth and gullet, lined with sharp teeth. He felt rather than saw the god surge towards them, jaws closing on his granddaughter’s limp form--

_ NO! _

With all his strength, he pulled. Jaws scrabbled at the opening, snapping voraciously centimeters away from Marty. The powerful muscled tail struck again and again, causing the rock above them to groan in protest. A cluster of eyes, yellow and red and green, cast venomous looks of hate towards him. Tentacles and claws jabbed in the crack, trying to hook at something, trying to retrieve their master's prey. 

_ Come on, come on Wout, faster! It goes further back!  _ Daan’s voice egged him on, encouraging him to push through the ache and burning muscle. Marty was motionless, as much help as a rag doll. The monsters on the other end strained and reached towards the pair, their howls of rage music to his ears as he continued to drag their prize away inch by painful inch.

========================================================================

Wout bent over Marty, peering into her unfocused eyes as he held open her eyelid with a finger. He’d managed to drag her while scooting on his stomach for several yards before his arms just gave out. Now they lay sandwiched between the rock side by side. He’d crawled to her on his elbows, collapsing beside her. It had taken him a long time to catch his breath, longer than he’d expected. By the time his breathing had returned to a measured rate, the cacophony at the crevice’s opening had ceased. Now a hundred pairs of eyes stared at him in absolute silence. Waiting. 

Marty groaned, shifting slightly. He slammed his hand over her mouth and she jerked awake in fear. The animal instinct crackled through her body and she bucked against him, banging her head against the stone above. For a moment, the primal terror flickered.

“Marty,” he whispered desperately. She had to remember. If she didn’t, she’d surely kill him. And he was too exhausted to fight her. The words, slippery and wooden at the same time, curled around his tongue fighting to stay between his teeth. With great effort, he forced them out. “Itsmegirl. RememberyourBaya. Shhhhitsjustme. Calmcalm. Therethere.” He kept his voice low, out of earshot of their audience. 

The yellow eyes regarded him suspiciously, but slowly a flicker of something else began to bloom in them. Keeping his hands in sight, Wout reached for his water bottle attached to the hip. Handing it to her slowly, he whispered, “Drink.” He tipped the cap to her lips. Marty drank and drank. He watched with a worried frown as she polished off the bottle, not stopping until every last drop was gone. She sighed in relief. 

“Better?”

He wasn’t sure whether it was the water or his voice, but for the first time, his granddaughter seemed to recognize him. “B-Baya?”

Tears sprang in his eyes as he cut the ties on her hands. “Thatsrightgirl.” He switched to sign language.  _ Forgot me so soon? _

A strangled sob.  _ What happened? _ She glanced around at the rock wall above them.  _ Why are we-- _ the sob cut short in a squeak of fear as she caught sight of the eyes staring at them.

He quickly pointed her chin away from them.  _ Look at me. Not them. _

_ What’s happening? _

_ We’re in a bit of trouble. But it’s okay. I found you, my girl. You’re safe---  _ Before he could stop himself, he’d buried his face in Marty’s shoulder. She clasped his arms tight. His muscles shook - with fear, relief, or exhaustion, he couldn’t say. 

When he finally pulled away, both their faces were wet. She clasped his hand tightly. 

_ I’m sorry for running away.  _

_ Never mind that. I understand. _

_ What are you doing here? _

_ After you ran, I came looking for you. _

She hesitated.  _ Are you here to bring me home? _

_ No.  _

He must have had a look on his face, because she signed quizzically,  _ Baya? _

Wout sighed.  _ Your pa...he was furious when you ran. Madder than those things out there, and twice as prideful. You’re...not safe if you go back. He’d kill you now if he could. Your brothers too.  _ Her eyes widened in alarm.  _ He owes a lot of people a lot of money for your wedding. _

_ I’ll go back _ . Her hands shook with panic.  _ I’ll go back, I’ll marry D-A-V-O-S-G-R-O-E-N, Pa won’t be mad if he can make his money back….! _

_ It’s too late, girl. Some debts can’t wait. And your sister… _

_ What about her? _

_ The G-R-O-E-N family insisted that they get a bride.  _

_ But she’s too young! _

_ Your Pa and Ma had to agree. Ceremony is said and done.  _ He didn’t tell her how Rmaa had sobbed as she’d exchanged rings with that drooling Groen boy at the altar, her hair askew and clad in the same stained apron she’d put on that morning. No beautiful dress, no celebration. A second-best bride. Thankfully the Groens had agreed to let Rmaa stay with her family until she came of age to move into their house. But another three years watching those demon twins as she waited...it was no life for a young girl. Better that Marty didn’t know the damage she’d caused her sister. 

Marty sniffled.  _ I’m sorry, Baya. I didn’t mean for all this to happen.  _

_ I know, love. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from it. From them.  _

_ I couldn’t marry him. I just couldn’t. _

_ I know. I don’t blame you.  _

_ Why did you come looking for me? _

_ Your pa told me to bring you back, or not bother coming into his house again. So, I left.  _ At Marty’s aghast look, he waved his hand.  _ I don’t need your pa to survive. Never did.  _

The look in her eyes cut into his heart. She cuddled close to him, signing into his hand.  _ I love you, Baya. _

He blinked the tears back.  _ Sleep now. When you wake up, they’ll be gone. I promise.  _ He began to trace her palm, the swoops and lines detailing his journey down into the deep to find her. He stroked her greasy hair until her eyes fluttered shut. Would she remember? He could only hope. 

_ You didn’t say it back,  _ Daan murmured. He was snuggled against Marty’s other side.  _ Couldn’t say to her. Couldn’t say it to me. _

_ I love her more than my own life.  _

_ So show her. _

===================================================================

_ The domain of Sobek is restless. They’ve been waiting for the rats to get hungry and try to escape their prison, but the older one is stubborn and the little one is weak. They may die in their cage. The god is incensed. His eyes blaze in silent fury and he watches the cage with the fervor that only gods have. The domain of Sobek doesn’t dare to leave, but they secretly chitter to themselves that they hope something interesting happens soon. _

_ Aha! At last. It is the old one. This rat is worn and weathered from long years of walking the ground above. It boldly stands before Sobek, demanding an audience. The domain of Sobek is hushed, in awe at its audacity. It parts before this one, who staggers from weakness as it walks toward the alligator god. _

_ “MINE,” Sobek growls. “She is mine.” _

_ “You want a rat. Take it.” The one holds out its palms face up, a universal gesture of surrender. “Let her go.” _

_ The red eyes of the alligator blink in confusion. The concept of sacrifice is familiar to it. But not self-sacrifice. This is something new. The domain of Sobek murmurs to itself in confusion. Who has ever offered themselves willingly to the god before? _

_ “You would trade your pathetic life for hers? Why?” _

_ The old rat sneers. “You took one from me, once. I won’t let you do it again.” _

_ “Ah.” Now this the god understands. “I take many. Some are like your kind. Others are different shapes. It matters not to me. I take what is mine and the darkness trembles in terror.” _

_ This rat’s arms shake, but somehow the domain of Sobek thinks it’s not in terror. “I have no doubt of that. But you will leave her alone.” _

_ The court is silent as the god considers this. He considers it a long time. The rat waits, palms open and trembling.  _

_ “I accept.” The domain of Sobek cheers. The god has come to a decision. At last, their boredom is over. “Kneel,” the god orders, voice thick with bloodlust. _

_ The rat casts a long look back at the crevice. In it, the little one sleeps peacefully, her hand clasped around empty air. The old one turns back to Sobek, and a strange smile sits on its face. It casts its walking stick to the side and, with the pain of age, creaks to its knees. It stares into the looming maw as it clasps around the head. _

_ The domain of Sobek swears they hear a bitter chuckle as the jaws snap shut. But perhaps it’s just the darkness playing tricks. _

========================================================================

_ Wout blinks. He stands at the shores of a lake black as tar. At the edge of the lake is a little boat tied to a pier. Sitting on the pier is a figure he recognizes instantly, though he’s never seen him before. The figure is furry and small, with a thick ringed tail, enormous ears, and eyes that could swallow the world. They loll at Wout as he approaches, and a tiny hand gives a six-fingered wave.  _

_ The figure pats the empty space beside him, inviting Wout to sit. He does. The figure is wearing a brightly colored patchwork outfit, made of yellow and purple. It has a thousand little pockets, each one brimming with shiny objects. From one, Wout spies a bent paper clip. In another dangles the string of a yo-yo. A jaunty little top hat sits atop his furry head. _

_ “I never believed in you. You always seemed too convenient - an excuse for absent-minded people.” _

_ “Ah,” the figure snickers. It’s voice is low, crafty, but not sly. Wout gets the distinct impression of a curious toddler for a reason that he suddenly can’t remember. “But she believes.” _

_ “Then I’m surprised Sobek hasn’t devoured you yet.” _

_ “You mean you haven’t figured it out?” _

_ “Figured out what?” _

_ “The brilliance of what you did. Tricked old Alligator Face himself.” _

_ Now Wout is genuinely confused. “Tricked him how?” _

_ “There’s magic in the world older than Sobek, you know. Blood magic. It runs deep in the veins of this world. This whole dimension’s a heart. And the heart respects the old ways.”  _

_ At Wout’s look, the figure waves a hand in exasperation. “When you gave yourself up for her, you made a blood sacrifice to a god. But it wasn’t free, and it wasn’t a request. It was a barter. And when a trade is made and paid in blood, then the heart says it must be upheld.” _

_ Wout glances out over the black water, digesting this. “He was never planning to honor it, was he?” _

_ The figure cackles. “Not a chance. But it’s been so long since anyone’s challenged him, he didn’t expect it. But he’s blood bonded to his promise now. No matter how angry he is about it. And let me tell you, he’s angry.” _

_ A relieved laugh bursts from Wout’s lips. The figure watches in amused confusion as Wout clutches his sides, heaving with laughter until his cheeks ache. He hasn’t laughed this hard since he was a young boy. When the laughter finally subsides, he lets out a long exhale and turns to the furry creature before him. _

_ “That still doesn’t explain why you’re here, Borrower.” _

_ “Beats me,” he squeaks in reply, fidgeting with his top hat. “I go where I’m called and I stay until the one who called me is no more. Your little one believes in me, so I’m here. I walk freely because she does.” _

_ “No. Why are you  _ _ here _ _ , right now?” _

_ “Ah, that.” Now it’s the Borrower’s turn to laugh. “That’s easy. The heart told me to be here.” _

_ “I don’t understand.” _

_ “No. You’re a mortal. I expect you wouldn’t.” The Borrower stands to his furry feet, brushing off his patchwork coat. “You need to go across the lake.” _

_ Wout eyes the boat doubtfully. “Why? And without a paddle?” _

_ “Your intent carries you forward. Or it doesn’t.” _

_ “What if I don’t want to go?” _

_ “You will. Everyone does. It’s what comes next.” _

_ “What if I’m afraid?” _

_ “I would be surprised if you weren’t.” The Borrower looks up at Wout with beady, intelligent eyes. “It’s time to go.” _

_ As if his feet are moving on their own, Wout clambers into the boat. Somehow, he feels like he’s supposed to sit in the front. He settles on the bench seat and turns back to see the Borrower walking away. “Wait!” _

_ The furred figure turns. “What?” _

_ “Will you take care of her for me?” _

_ “I take what I need. I give sometimes, too. I can’t promise more than that. No one gets more than that. Not in this life.” _

_ With that, the Borrower walks up the pier and into the darkness. Wout turns and faces the black lake. On its own, the boat drifts from shore.  _

_ A figure settles in the seat next to him.The boy’s shock of red hair spills into his green eyes, clear and deep as a cave pool. His wiry frame carries a swagger to it, and he greets Wout with a knowing smile full of crooked teeth. Wout looks down at his own reflection in the water. A boy’s face stares back, the decades of pain smoothed over. His hair is black instead of gray, his eyes no longer embittered by age. He touches his fingers to his skin in wonder.  _

_ “I thought I was supposed to do this alone.” Wout tries to recall the Borrower’s words, but somehow they are slippery. _

_ “Not always the case.” _

_ “Have you been waiting on the shore this whole time?” _

_ “Yes. Waiting for you.” Daan holds out his hand, steady, no longer shaking with the nerves of war. _

_ “I love you.” The words come easily to his lips, like they’ve been waiting for him to release them. The lips curl into a grin, and he feels his heart beat in a way he thought he’d long forgotten.  _

_ “What took you so long?” _

_ Clasping hands, the two boys surf the silent waters of the black lake, disappearing into the shadows.  _

========================================================================

_ Marty follows Baya through the tunnels, down the path he traced into her hand. She sees the twists and turns as clearly as if she’d taken them herself. He is ahead of her, his lantern bobbing as he walks.  _

_ She quickens her pace to catch him. As she does, the link to the god stretches, like a rope weakened by the pull of distance. She tests the leash. It’s slack. At her back, the press of eyes urges her onward still, but the gaze in them is sleepy.  _

_ “Baya!” she calls out, but he seems not to hear her. The light dances, casting a halo around his silhouette. Impatiently she tugs. With a snap the tether answers her command, leaving the end dangling limply. Mouth open, she stares at the frayed end. The eyes begin to wink out, one pair at a time. She feels giddy, suspended in midair. _

_ She glances back towards Baya. His light is a point in the darkness. She is losing him. She sprints towards it, a grief she doesn’t understand spilling over. _

_ Her hand swipes at his cloak, and the rubber slips through her fingers. As the silhouette disappears around the corner, she swears she catches a glimpse of a ringed tail under the poncho. _

_ ======================================================================== _

A slight breeze ruffled the hair on Marty’s forehead. Abruptly, she snapped awake. Where was Baya? Instead of her grandfather, only the cold leather of his rucksack lay next to her. 

“B-B-Baya?” Desperately, she glanced at the crevice, only to blink in confusion. Where before there had been the solid malevolent presence of a hundred monsters waiting to devour her, there was now just a gently whistling emptiness. 

Clutching the rucksack in one hand, she crawled towards the entrance on one elbow. Slithering out of the crevice, she glanced around wildly. But there was nothing laying in wait. Only the distant scrape of cockroaches on rock gave any indication of life in the cavern. 

Marty’s heart leapt into her mouth as she caught sight of a familiar walking stick on the ground. The wood was cold to the touch, smeared with crimson. The grief from her dream rushed back, scalpel-sharp and overwhelming as a landslide. Holding the stick tight to her chest, she fell to her knees and let out a keening wail, rocking back and forth. 

She wasn’t sure how long she stayed like that, but finally the tears subsided and she sat in the dirt with his walking stick, hollow and empty. The wind whistled. Her limbs were limp. What did it matter where she went? No matter where she walked, he wouldn’t be there. She’d be alone. 

She might have sat and despaired forever, eventually wasting away with grief, but unfortunately her stomach had other ideas. The growl of a hungry gut punctuated her thoughts and hammered at her. Slowly, slowly, she reached a hand over to the rucksack and dragged it over to her lap, untying it to see if there was food inside.

A canteen tumbled out, sloshing heavily. An idle part of her wondered at its fullness - didn’t she remember drinking it dry? - but as she unscrewed the cap and lifted it to her lips, all other thought left her mind and her body took over, slurping it greedily. Forcing herself to only drink half, she set it down and reached inside the rucksack. A pack of jerky. Her knife. Her coil of fishing wire. Baya’s gas mask. The VRA basic training manual, complete with notes in her wispy handwriting. And...something else…something square….

With a gasp, she withdrew the Walkman and headphones. Mouth agape, she glanced at the treasures before her. How was this possible? She distinctly remembered his pack being nearly empty when he found her. He’d been traveling for days searching for her. Surely any food would have been gone. And she’d told no one about the fishing wire and knife. How….?

But why was she asking questions she already knew the answers to? 

Shifting to her knees, she unscrewed the cap to the water bottle. Pouring a capful onto the ground in thanks, she also took a piece of jerky and tore it into strips, scattering it on the ground. There was no shrine here, but under the circumstances, it would have to do. 

Putting the contents back in the rucksack, she cinched it tight, looping it around her shoulders and chest. Looking out into the endless dark of the underground, she wondered where to go from here. This was territory Baya had never shown her. She didn't even know how far down she was…

At the unspoken question, her hand twitched with an unbidden impulse.  _ Tunnel _ . Her hand counted out five fingers 3 times, then 3 fingers, then none, but just clenched twice. The distance translated in her mind. A flicker of warmth, tiny and fragile, lit in her heart. 

She should have known he’d never leave her lost. 

The walking stick went firmly in her hand. The Walkman clipped to a loop in her poncho. Halfway expecting it to give her nothing but empty clicks, she sighed in relief as the gravelly voice of Paul Pena crooned in her ears. “ _ My wife died, went on that long black train...three years since then have come and gone again…” _

With a strange lightness in her chest, she began to walk.

  
  
  


THE END


End file.
